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TAe strand magazine 

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January, 1900, to June, 1900 

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J%n Jllustrated Jffonthly 



Vol. XIX. 


Xonfcon : 

GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, & 12, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, 



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The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. XIJL 

JANUARY, 1900, 

No. tog. 

The Brass Bottle. 

By R Anstev. 

Aulh&r of k% Viee-Vtr$&" etc., tie. 



HIS day six weeks— just six 
weeks ago ! " Horace Venti- 
more said, half aloud, to 
himself, and pulled out his 
watch. u Half-past twelve — 
what was I doing at half-past 

twelve ? * 

As he sat at the window of his office in 

Great Cloister Street, Westminster, he made 

his thoughts travel back to a certain glorious 

morning in August which now seemed so 

remote and irrecoverable. At this precise 

time he was waiting on the balcony of the 

Hotel de la Plage — the sole hostelry of St. 

Luoen-Port, the tiny Normandy watering- 

place upon which, by some happy inspiration, 

he had lighted during a solitary 

cycling tour — waiting until She 

should appear. 

He could see the whole 

the tiny cove, with the 

violet shadow of the cliff 

sleeping on the green 

water ; the swell of the 

waves lazily lapping 

against the diving-board 

from which he 

had plunged half 

an hour before ; 

he remembered 

the long swim 

out to the buoy ; 

the exhilarated 

anticipation with 

which lie had 

dressed and 

climbed the steep 

path to the hotel 


For was he not 

to pass the whole 

remainder of that 

blissful day in 

Vol. xix.-h 

Sylvia Futvoye's society ? Were they not 
to cycle together (there were, of course, 
others of the party — but they did not 
count), to cycle over to Veulettes, to 
picnic there under the cliff, and ride back — 
always together — in the sweet-scented dusk, 
over the slopes, between the poplars or 
through the cornfields glowing golden against 
a sky of warm purple ? 

Now he saw himself going round to 
the gravelled courtyard in front of the hotel 
with a sudden dread of missing her. There 
was nothing there but the little low cart, 
with its canvas tilt, which was to convey 
Professor Futvoyc and his wife to the place 
of rendezvous. 

u..>* *v '** 

f /fti%** 


Copyright, 1900, in the United Stales of America, by D* "AiipldiUrJ&ldA'-'i 



There was Sylvia at last, distractingly fair 
and fresh in her cool, pink blouse and cream- 
coloured skirt ; how gracious and friendly 
and generally delightful she had been through- 
out that unforgettable day, which was supreme 
amongst others only a little less perfect, and 
all now fled for ever ! 

They had had drawbacks, it was true. Old 
Futvoye was perhaps the least bit of a bore 
at times, with his interminable disquisitions 
on Egyptian art and ancient Oriental 
character-writing, in which he seemed con- 
vinced that Horace must feel a perfervid 
interest, as, indeed, he thought it politic to 
affect. The Professor was a most learned 
archaeologist, and positively bulged with 
information on his favourite subjects ; but it 
is just possible that Horace might have been' 
less curious concerning the distinction be- 
tween Cuneiform and Aramaean or Kufic 
and Arabic inscriptions if his informant had 
happened to be the father of anybody else. 
However, such insincerities as these are but 
so many evidences of sincerity. 

So with self-tormenting ingenuity Horace 
conjured up various pictures from that 
Norman holiday of his. And now ? . . . . 
He looked up from the papers and tracing 
cloth on his desk, and round the small 
panelled room which served him as an 
office, at the framed plans and photo- 
graphs, the set squares and T squares 
on the walls, and felt a dull resentment 
against his surroundings. From his window 
he commanded a cheerful view of a tall, 
mouldering wall, once part of the Abbey 
boundaries, surmounted by chcvaux-dc-frisC) 
above whose rust-attenuated spikes some 
plane trees strefched their yellowing branches. 

11 She would have come to care for me," 
Horace's thoughts ran on, disjointedly. " I 
could have sworn that that last day of all — 
and her people didn't seem to object to me. 
-Her mother asked me cordially enough to 
call on them when they were back in town. 
When I did " 

When he had called, there had been a 
difference — not an unusual sequel to an ac- 
quaintanceship begun in a Continental water- 
ing-place. It was difficult to define, but 
unmistakable— a certain formality and con- 
straint on Mrs. Futvoye's part, and even on 
Sylvia's, which seemed intended to warn him 
that it is not every friendship that survives 
the Channel passage. So he had gone away 
sore at heart, but fully recognising that any 
advances in future must come from their 
side. They might ask him to dinner, or at 
least to call again ; but more than a month 

Digitized by CiOOQ I C 

had passed, and they had made no sign. No, 
it was all over ; he must consider himseli 

" After all," he told himself, with a short 
and anything but mirthful laugh, " it's natural 
enough. Mrs. Futvoye has probably been 
making inquiries about my professional 
prospects. It's better as it is. What earthly 
chance have I got of marrying unless I can 
get work of my own ? It's all I can do to 
keep myself decently. I've no right to 
dream of asking anyone — to say nothing of 
Sylvia — to marry me. . I should only be 
rushing into temptation if I saw any more 
of her. She's not for a poor beggar like 
me, who was born unlucky. Well, whining 
won't do any good — let's have a look at 
Beevor's latest performance." 

He spread out a large coloured plan, in 
a corner of which appeared the name of 
11 William Beevor, Architect," and began to 
study it in a spirit of anything but appre- 

" Beevor gets on," he said to himself. 
" Heaven knows I don't grudge him his 
success. He's a good fellow — though he does 
build architectural atrocities, and seems to like 
'em. Who am I to give myself airs ? He's 
successful — I'm not. Yet if I only had his 
opportunities, what wouldn't I make of 

Let it be said here that this was not the 
ordinary self-delusion of an incompetent. 
Ventimore really had talent above the 
average, with ideals and ambitions which 
might under better conditions have attained 
recognition and fulfilment before this. 

But he was not quite energetic enough, 
besides being too proud, to push himself 
into notice, and hitherto he had met with 
persistent ill-luck. 

So Horace had no other occupation now 
but to give Beevor, whose offices and clerk 
he shared, such slight assistance as he might 
require, and it was by no means cheering to 
feel that every year of this enforced semi- 
idleness left him further handicapped in the 
race for wealth and fame, for he had already 
passed his twenty -eighth birthday. 

If Miss Sylvia Futvoye had indeed. felt 
attracted towards him at one time it was not 
altogether incomprehensible. Horace Venti- 
more was not a model of manly beauty — 
models of manly beauty are rare out of 
novels, and seldom interesting in them ; but his 
clear-cut, clean-shaven face possessed a certain 
distinction, and if there were faint satirical 
lines about the mouth, they were redeemed 
by the expression of the grey-blue eyes, 



which were remarkably frank and pleasant. 
He was well made, and tall enough to escape 
all danger of being described as short ; fair- 
haired and pale, without being unhealthily 
pallid, in complexion, and he gave the 
impression of being a man who took, life as 
it came, and whose sense of humour would 
serve as a lining for most clouds that might 
darken his horizon. 

There was a rap at the door which com- 
municated with Beevor's office, and Beevor 
himself, a florid, thick-set man, with small 
side-whiskers, burst in, 

" I say, Ventimore, you didn't run off with 
the plans for that house I'm building at 
LaTchmere, did you? Because — ah, I see 
you're looking over them. Sorry to deprive 
you t but * 

"Thanks, old fellow, take them, by all 
means. I've seen all I wanted to see. 5 * 


"Well, I'm just off to Larchmere now* 
Want to be there to check the quantities, 
and there's my other house at FittLesdon. I 
must go on afterwards and set it out, so I 
shall probably be away some days. Pni 
taking Harrison down, too. You won't be 
wanting him, eh ? " 

Ventimore laughed, " I can manage to do 
nothing without a clerk to help me. Your 
necessity is greater than mine. Here are the 

44 Tm rather pleased with J em myself, you 
know," said Beevor; "that roof ought to 
look well, eh ? Good idea of mine lighten- 

by Google 

ing the slate with that ornamental tile-work 
along the top. You saw I put in one of 
your windows with just a trifling addition, I 
was almost inclined to keep both gables 
alike, as you suggested, but it struck me a 
little variety — one red brick and the other 
£ parged J — would be more out of the way." 

"Oh, much/' agreed Ventimore, knowing 
that to disagree was useless. 

"Not, mind you/' continued Beevor, "that 
I believe in going in for too much originality 
in domestic architecture. The average client 
no more wants an original house than he 
wants an original hat; he wants something 
he won't feel a fool in. I've often thought, 
old man, that perhaps the reason why you 
haven't got on you don't mind my speak- 
ing candidly, do you? B 

* Not a bit," said Ventimore, cheerfully, 
u Candour's the cement of friendship. Dab 
it on," 

" Well, I was only going to say 
that you do yourself no good by all 
those confoundedly unconventional 
ideas of yours. If you had your 
chance to-uiorrow, it's my belief 
you'd throw it away by insisting on 
some fantastic fad or other" 

"These speculations are a trifle 
premature, considering that there 
doesn't seem the remotest prospect 
of my ever getting a chance at all'' 
" I got mine before I T d set up 
six months," said Beevor. "'The 
great thing, however," he went on, 
with a flavour of personal applica- 
tion, 'Ms to know how to use it 
when it does come, Well t I must 
be off if I mean to catch that one 
o'clock from Waterloo. You'll see 
to anything that may come in for 
me while I'm away, won't you, and 
let me know ? Oh, by the way, 
the quantity surveyor has jjjist 
sent in the quantities for that 
schoolroom at Woodford — do you mind 
running through them and seeing they're 
right ? And there's the specification for the 
new wing at Tusculum Lodge— you might 
draft that some time when you've nothing else 
to do. You'll find all the papers on my desk. 
Thanks awfully, old chap." 

And Beevor hurried back to his own room, 
where for the next few minutes he coutd be 
heard bustling Harrison , the clerk, to make 
haste ; then a hansom was whistled for, there 
were footsteps down the old stairs, the sounds 
of a departing vehicle on the uneven stones, 
and after that silence and solitude. 
Original from 



It was not in Nature to avoid feeling a 
little envious. Beevor had work to do in the 
world: even if it chiefly consisted in profaning 
sylvan retreats by smug or pretentious villas, 
it was still work which entitled him to 
consideration and respect in the eyes of all 
right-minded persons. 

And nobody believed in Horace ■ as yet 
he had never known the satisfaction of seeing 
the work of his brain realized in stone and 
brick and mortar ; no building stood any- 
where to bear testimony to his existence and 
capability long after he himself should have 
passed away. 

It was not a profitable train of thought, 
and 3 to escape from it, he went into Beevor's 
room and fetched the documents he had 
mentioned — at least they would keep him 
occupied until it was time to go to his club 
and lunch. He had no sooner 
settled down to his calcula- 
tions, however, when he heard 
a shuffling step 
on the landing, 
followed by a 
knock at Beevor's 
office-door, "More 
work for Beevor/' 
bethought; "what 
luck the fellow 
has! I'd better 
go in and explain 
that he's just left 
town on business. 5 * 

But on entering 
the adjoining 
room he heard the 
knocking repeated 
— this time at his 
own door ; and 
hastening back to 
put an end to this 

somewhat undignified form of hide- 
and-seek, he discovered that this visitor 
at least was legitimately his, and was, in 
fact, no other than Professor Anthony 
Futvoye himself. 

The Professor was standing in the door- 
way peering short-sigh ted ly through his convex 
glasses, his head protruded from his loosely- 
fitting great-coat with an irresistible sug- 
gestion of an inquiring tortoise. To Horace 
his appearance was more welcome than that 
of the wealthiest client — for why should 
Sylvia's father take the trouble to pay him 
this visit unless he still wished to continue 
the acquaintanceship? It might even be 
that he was the bearer of some message or 


by Google 

So, although to an impartial eye the 
Professor might not seem the kind of 
elderly gentleman whose society would pro- 
duce any wild degree of exhilaration, Horace 
was unfeignedly delighted to see him. 

" Extremely kind of you to come and 
see me like this, sir," he said, warmly, after 
establishing him in the solitary arm-chair, 
reserved for hypothetical clients, 

"Not at all. I'm afraid your visit to 
Cottesmore Gardens some time ago was 
somewhat of a disappointment" 

" A disappointment ? " echoed Horace, at 
a loss to know what was coming next. 

f< I refer to the fact — which possibly, how- 
ever, escaped your notice "—explained the 

Professor, scratch- 
ing his scanty 
patch of grizzled 
whisker with a 
touch of irasci- 
bility, u that I my- 
self was not at 
home on that 

u Indeed, I was 
greatly disap- 
pointed," said 
Horace, " though 
of course I know 
how much you are 
engaged. It's all 
the more good of 
you to spare time 
to drop in for a 
chat just now." 

* £ I've not come 
to chat, Mr, Ven- 
timore, I never 
chat. I wanted to 
see you about a 
matter which I 
thought you might 
be so obliging as 
to But I ob- 
serve you are busy 
— probably too busy to attend to such a 
small affair." 

It was clear enough now ; the Professor 
was going to build, and had decided— could 
it be at Sylvia's suggestion ? — to intrust the 
work to him ! But he contrived to subdue 
any self- betraying eagerness, and reply (as he 
could with perfect truth) that he had nothing 
on hand just then which he could not lay 
aside, and that if the Professor would let 
him know what he required, he could take it 
up at once, 

u So much the better," said the Professor ; 
Original from 




"so much the better. Both my wife and 
daughter declared that it was making far too 
great a demand upon your good nature ; but, 
as I told them, 'I am much mistaken/ I said, 
* if Mr. Ventimore's practice is so extensive 
that he cannot leave it for one afternoon '" 

Evidently it was not a house. Could he 
be needed to escort them somewhere that 
afternoon ? Even that was more than he 
had hoped for a few minutes since. He 
hastened to repeat that he was perfectly 
free that afternoon. 

u In that case," said the Professor, begin- 
ning to fumble in all his pockets — was he 
searching for a note in Sylvia's hand ? " In 
. that case, you will be conferring a real favour 
on me if you can make it convenient to 
attend a sale at Hammond's Auction Rooms 
in Covent Garden, and just bid for one or 
two articles on my behalf." 

Whatever disappointment Ventimore felt, it 
may be said to his credit that he allowed no 
sign of it to appear. " Of course I'll go, with 
pleasure," he said, "if I can be of any use." 

" I knew I shouldn't come to you in vain," 
said the Professor. " I remembered your 
wonderful good nature, sir, in accompanying 
my wife and daughter on all sorts of expedi- 
tions in the blazing hot weather we had at 
St Luc — when you might have remained 
quietly at the hotel with me. Not that I 
should trouble you now, only I have to 
lunch at the Oriental Club* and I've an 
appointment afterwards to examine and 
report on a recently-discussed inscribed 
cylinder for the Museum, which will fully 
occupy the rest of the afternoon, so that 
it's physically impossible for me to go to 
Hammond's myself, and I strongly object to 
employing a broker when I can avoid it. 
Where did I put that catalogue ? . . . . Ah, 
here it is. This was sent to me by the 
executors of my old friend, General Colling- 
ham, who died the other day. I met him at 
Nakada when I was out excavating some 
years ago. He was something of a col- 
lector in his way, though he knew very 
little about it, and, of course, was taken in 
right and left. Most of his things are 
downright rubbish, but there are just a few 
lots that are worth securing, at a reasonable 
figure, by someone who knew what he was 

" But, my dear Professor," remonstrated 
Horace, not relishing this responsibility, "I'm 
afraid I'm as likely as not to pick up some of 
the rubbish. I've no special knowledge of 
Oriental curios." 

" At St Luc," said the Professor, " you 

by L^OOgle 

impressed me as having, for an amateur, an 
exceptionally accurate and comprehensive 
acquaintance with Egyptian and Arabian art 
from the earliest period." (If this were so, 
Horace could only feel with shame what 
a fearful humbug he must have been.) 
11 However, I've no wish to lay too heavy a 
burden on you, and, as you will see from this 
catalogue, I have ticked off the lots in which 
I am chiefly interested, and made a note of 
the limit to which I am prepared to bid, so 
you'll have no difficulty." 

" Very well," said Horace, " 111 go straight 
to Covent Garden, and slip out and get some 
lunch later on." 

" Well, perhaps, if you don't mind. The 
lots I have marked seem to come on at 
rather frequent intervals, but don't let that 
consideration deter you from getting your 
lunch, and if you should miss anything by 
not being on the spot, why, it's of no con- 
sequence, though I don't say it mightn't be a 
pity. In any case, you won't forget to mark 
what each lot fetches, and perhaps you 
wouldn't mind dropping me a line when you 
return the catalogue — or stay, could you look 
in some time after dinner this evening, and 
let me know how you got on ? — that would 
be better." 

Horace thought it would be decidedly 
better, and undertook to call and render an 
account of his stewardship that evening. 
There remained the question of a deposit, 
should one or more of the lots be knocked 
down to him ; and, as he was obliged to own 
that he had not so much as ten pounds about 
him at that particular moment, the Professor 
extracted a note for that amount from his 
case, and handed it to him with the air of 
a benevolent person relieving a deserving 
object. " Don't exceed my limits," he said, 
" for I can't afford more just now ; and mind 
you give Hammond your own name, not 
mine. If the dealers get to know I'm after 
the things, they'll run you up. And now, I 
don't think I need detain you any longer, 
especially as time is running on. I'm sure I 
can trust you to do the best you can for me. 
Till this evening, then." 

A few minutes later Horace was driving up 
to Covent Garden behind the best-looking 
horse he could pick out. 

The Professor might have required from 
him rather more than was strictly justified by 
their acquaintanceship, and taken his acquies- 
cence too much as a matter of course — but 
what of that? After all, he was Sylvia's 

" Even with my luck," he was thinking, " I 




ought to succeed in getting at least one or 
two of the lots he's marked ; and if I can only 
please him, something may come of it" 

And in this sanguine mood Horace entered 
Messrs. Hammond's well-known auction 
rooms, * 



In spite of the fact that it was the luncheon 
hour when Ventimore reached Hammond^ 
Auction Rooms, he found the big, skylighted 
gallery where the sale of the furniture and 
effects of the late General Collingham was 
proceeding crowded to a degree which 
showed that the deceased officer had some 
reputation as a connoisseur. 

The narrow green baize tables below the 
auctioneer's rostrum were occupied by pro- 
fessional dealers, one or two of them women, 
who sat, paper and pencil in hand, with 
much the same air of apparent apathy and 
real vigilance that may be noticed in 
the Casino at Monte Carlo, Around them 
stood a decorous and businesslike crowd, 
mostly dealers, of various types. On a 
magisterial-looking bench sat the auctioneer, 
conducting the sale with a judicial impar- 
tiality and dignity which forbade him, even 
in his most laudatory comments, the faintest 
accent of enthusiasm. 

The October sunshine, striking through 
the glazed roof, re-gilded the tarnished gas- 

by Google 

stars, and suffused the dusty atmosphere 
with palest gold. But somehow the utter 
absence of excitement in the crowd, the calm, 
methodical tone of the auctioneer, and the 
occasional mournful cry of " Lot here, gentle- 
men I JJ from the porter when any article was 
too large to move, all served to depress 
Ventimore's usually mercurial spirits. 

For all Horace knew, the collection as a 
whole might be of little value, but it very soon 
became clear that others besides Professor 
Futvoye had singled out such gems as there 
were, also that the Professor had considerably 
under-rated the prices they were likely to 

Ventimore made his bids with all possible 
discretion, but time after time he found the 
competition for some perforated mosque 
lantern, engraved ewer, or ancient porcelain 
tile so great that his limit was soon reached* 
and his sole consolation was that the article 
eventually changed hands for sums which 
were very nearly double the Professor's 

Several dealers and brokers, despairing of 
a bargain that day, left, murmuring profanities; 
most of those who remained ceased to take a 
serious interest in the proceedings, and con- 
soled themselves with cheap witticisms at 
every favourable occasion. 

The sale dragged slowly on, and, what with 
continual disappointment and want of food, 
Horace began to feel so weary that he was 
glad, as the crowd thinned, to get a seat at 
one of the green baize tables, by which time 
the skylights had already changed from livid 
grey to slate colour in the deepening dusk. 

A couple of meek Burmese Buddhas had 
just been put up, and bore the indignity of 
being knocked down for nine-and-sixpence 
the pair with a dreamy, inscrutable simper ; 
Horace only waited for the final lot marked 
by the Professor — an old Persian copper- 
bowl, inlaid with silver and engraved round 
the rim with an inscription from Hafiz, 

The limit to which he was authorized to 
go was two pounds ten ; but, so desperately 
anxious was Ventimore not to return empty- 
handed, that he had made up his mind to 
bid an extra sovereign if necessary, and say 
nothing about it. 

However, the bowl was put up, and the 
bidding soon rose to three pounds ten, four 
pounds, four pounds ten, five pounds, five 
guineas, for which last sum it was acquired 
by a bearded man on Horace's right, who 
immediately began to regard his purchase 
with a more indulgent eye, 

Ventimore had done his best, and failed ; 



there was no reason now why he should, stay 
a moment longer — and yet he sat on, from 
sheer fatigue and disinclination to move. 

"Now we come to lot 254, gentlemen," he 
heard the auctioneer saying, mechanically : 
"a capital Egyptian mummy case in fine 

con no, I beg pardon, I'm wrong. This 

is an article which by some mistake has been 
omitted from the catalogue, though it ought 
to have been in it. Everything on sale to-day, 
gentlemen, belonged to the late General 
Collingham. We'll call this No. 253a. 
Antique brass bottle. Very curious." 

One of the porters carried the bottle in 
between the tables, and set it down before 
the dealers at the farther end with a tired 

It was an old, squat, pot-bellied vessel about 
2ft. high, with a long, thick neck, the mouth 
of which was closed by a sort of metal stopper 
or cap ; there was no visible decoration on its 
sides, which were rough and pitted by some 
incrustation that had formed on them, and 
been partially scraped off. As a piece of 
bric-a-brac it certainly possessed few attrac- 
tions, and there was a marked tendency to 
" guy " ^ among the more frivolous brethren. 

"What do you call this, sir?" inquired 
one of the auctioneer, with the manner of a 
cheeky boy trying to get a rise out of his 
form-master. "Is it as 'unique' as the 

"You're as well able to judge as I am," 
was the guarded reply. "Anyone can see 
for himself it's not modern rubbish." 

" Make a pretty little ornament for the 
mantelpiece ! " remarked a wag. 

"Is the top made to unscrew, or what, 
sir?" asked a third. "Seems fixed on pretty 

"I can't say. Probably it has not been 
removed for some time." 

"It's a goodish weight," said the chief 
humorist, after handling it. " What's inside 
of it, sir — sardines?" 

"I don't represent it as having anything 
inside it," said the auctioneer. " If you want 
to know my opinion, I think there's money 
in it." 

" 'Ow much ? " 

" Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. 
When I say I consider there's money in it, 
I'm not alluding to its contents. I've no 
reason to believe that it contains anything. 
I'm merely suggesting the thing itself may be 
worth more than it looks." 

"Ah, it might be that without 'urting 

" Well, well, don't let us waste time. Look 

VoL *U.-2. 

by L^OOgle 

upon it as a pure speculation, and make me 
an offer for it, some of you. Come." 

" Tuppence-'ap'ny ! " cried the comic man, 
affecting to brace himself for a mighty effort. 

"Pray be serious, gentlemen. We want 
to get on, you know. Anything to make a 
start. • Five shillings ? It's not the value of 
the metal, but I'll take the bid. Six. Look 
at it well. It's not an article you come 
across eveny day of your lives." 

The "bottle was still being passed round 
with disrespectful raps and slaps, and it had 
now come to Ventimore's right-hand neigh- 
bour, who scrutinized it carefully, but made 
no bid. 

" That's all right, you know," he whispered 
in Horace's ear. " That's good stuff, that is. 
If I was you, I'd 'ave that." 

" Seven . shillings — eight — nine bid for it 
over there in the corner," said the auctioneer. 

" If you think it's so good, why don't 
you have it yourself?" Horace asked his 

" Me ? Oh, well, it ain't exactly in my 
line, and getting this last lot pretty near 
cleaned me out. I've done for to-day, I 'ave. 
All the same, it is a curiosity ; dunno as I've 
seen a brass vawse just that shape before, and 
it's genuine old, though all these fellers are 
too ignorant to know the value of it. So 
I don't mind giving you the tip." 

Horace rose, the better to examine the top. 
As far as he could make out in the flicker- 
ing light of one of the gas-stars, which the 
auctioneer had just ordered to be lit, there 
were half-erased scratches and triangular 
marks on the cap that might possibly be an 
inscription. If so, might there not be the 
means here of regaining the Professor's 
favour, which he felt that, as it was, he should 
probably forfeit, justly or not, by his ill- 
success ? 

He could hardly spend the Professor's 
money on it, since it was not in the catalogue, 
and he had no authority to bid for it, but 
he had a few shillings of his own to spare. 
Why not bid for it on his own account as 
long as he could afford to do so ? If he were 
outbid, as usual, it would not particularly 

"Thirteen shillings," the auctioneer was 
saying, in his dispassionate tones. Horace 
caught his eye, and slightly raised his 
catalogue, while another man nodded at the 
same time. " Fourteen in two places." 
Horace raised his catalogue again — " I won't 
go beyond fifteen," he thought. 

"Fifteen. It's against you, sir. Any 
advance on fifteen ? Sixteen — this very 

Original from 




quaint old Oriental bottle going for only 
sixteen shillings-" 

41 After all," thought Horace, a I don't 
mind anything under a pound for it* And 
he bid seventeen shillings. M Eighteen/' 
cried his rival, a short, cheery, cherub-faced 
little dealer, whose neighbours adjured him 
to "sit quiet like a good little boy and not 
waste his pocket-money," 

" Nineteen ! " said Horace, M Pound ! " 
answered the cherubic man. 

41 A pound only bid for this grand brass 
vessel," said the auctioneer, indifferently, 
" All done at a pound ? n 

Horace thought another shilling or two 
would not ruin him, and nodded. 

** A guinea. For the last time. You'll lose 
it, sir/* said the auctioneer to the little man. 

11 Go on, Tommy, Don't you be beat. 
Spring another bob on it, Tommy/' his 
friends advised him ironically, but Tommy 
shook his head, with the air of a man who 
knows when to draw the line. ct One guinea 
— and that's not half its value ! Gentleman 
on my left," said the auctioneer, more in 
sorrow than in anger— and the brass bottle 
became Yen ti mo re's property. 

He paid for it, and, since he could hardly 
walk home nursing a large metal bottle with- 
out attracting an inconvenient amount of 
attention, directed that it should be sent to 
his lodgings at Vincent Square, 

But when he was out in the fresh air, walk- 
ing westward to his club* he found himself 
wondering more and more w r hat could have 
possessed him to throw away a guinea-- 
when he had few enough for legitimate ex- 
penses — on an article of such exceedingly 
problematical value. 



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Yen timor e made his way to Cottesmore 
Gardens that evening in a highly inconsistent, 
not to say chaotic, state of mind. The 
thought that he would presently see Sylvia 
again made his blood course quicker, while 
he was fully determined to say no more to 
her than civility demanded. 

At one moment he was blessing Professor 
Futvoye for his happy thought in making use 
of him ; at another he was bitterly recognis- 
ing that it would have been better for 
his peace of mind if he had been left 
alone. Sylvia and her mother had 
no desire to see more of him ; if 
they had, they would have asked him 
to come before this. No doubt they 
would tolerate him now for the 
Professor's sake ; 
but whowould not 
rather be ignored 
than tolerated ? 

The more often 
he saw Sylvia the 
more she would 
make his heart 
ache with vain 
longing— whereas 
he was getting al- 
most reconciled to 
her indifference ; 
he would very 
soon be cured if 
he didn't see her. 
Why should he 
see her? He need 
not go in at all. 
He had merely to 
leave the catalo- 
gue with his com- 
pliments, and the 
Professor would 
learn all he wanted 
to know. 


Original from 



On second thoughts he must go in^ — if 
only to return the bank-note. But he would 
ask to see the Professor in private. Most 
probably he would not be invited to join his 
wife and daughter, but if he were, he could 
make some excuse. They might think it a 
little odd— a little discourteous, perhaps ; but 
they would be too relieved to care much 
about that 

When he got to Cottesmore Gardens, and 
was actually at the door of the Futvoyes' 
house, one of the neatest and demurest 
in that retired and intensely respectable 
thoroughfare, he began to feel a craven hope 
that the Professor might be out, in which 
case he need only leave the catalogue and 
write a letter when he got home, reporting 
his non-success at the sale, and returning the 

And, as it happened, the Professor was 
out, and Horace was not so glad as he 
thought he should be. The maid told 
him that the ladies were in the drawing- 
room, and seemed to take it for granted 
that he was coming in, so he had himself 
announced. He would not stay long- 
just long enough to explain his business 
there, and make it clear that he had 
no wish to force his 
acquaintance upon 
them. He found Mrs. 
Futvoye in the farther 
part of the pretty double 
drawing-room, writing 
letters, and Sylvia t more 
dazzlingly fair than ever 
in some sort of gauzy 
black frot:k with a helio- 
trope sash and a bunch 
of Parma violets on her 
breast, was comfortably 
established with a book 
in the front room, and 
seemed surprised, if not 
resentful, at having to 
disturb herself. 

" I must apologize,' 1 
he began, with an in- 
voluntary stiffness, "for 
calling at this very un- 

like you to put aside his work and go and 
spend a whole day at that stupid auction ! " 

"Oh, I'd nothing particular to do, I can't 
call myself a busy man — unfortunately/' said 
Horace, with that frankness which scorns to 
conceal what other people know perfectly 
well already. 

"Ah, well, it's very nice of you to make 
light of it — but he ought not to have done it 
— after so short an acquaintance, too. And 
to make it worse, he has had to go out 
unexpectedly this evening, but he'll be back 
before very long, if you don't mind waiting." 

"There's really no need to wait," said 
Horace, " because this catalogue will tell 
him everything, and, as the particular things 
he wanted went for much more than he 
thought, I wasn't able to get any of them/' 

" Fni sure I'm very glad of it/' said Mrs. 




time ; but the fact is, the 

"I know all about it," interrupted Mrs. 
Futvoye, brusquely, while her shrewd, light- 
grey eyes took him in with a cool stare that 
was humorously observant without being 
aggressive, *' We heard how shamefully my 
husband abused your good-nature. Really, 
it was too bad of him to ask a busy man 



Futvoye, a for his study is crammed with 
odds and ends as it is, and I don't want the 
whole house to look like a museum or an 
antiquity shop, I'd all the trouble in the 
world to persuade him that a great gaudy 
gilded mummy-case was not quite the thing 
for a drawing-room. But, please sit down, 
Mr. Ventimore," 

* l Thanks," stammered Horace, "but — 
Original from 




but I mustn't stay. If you will tell the 
Professor how sorry I was to miss him, and 
— and give him back this note which he left 
with me to cover any deposit, I — I won't 
interrupt you any longer." 

He was, as a rule, imperturbable in most 
social emergencies, but just now he was 
seized with a wild desire to escape, which, to 
his infinite mortification, made him behave 
like a shy schoolboy. 

" Nonsense ! " said Mrs. Futvoye ; " I am 
sure my husband would be most annoyed if 
we didn't keep you till he came." 

" I really ought to go," he declared, wist- 
fully enough. 

" We mustn't tease Mr. Ventimore to stay, 
mother, when he so evidently wants to go," 
said Sylvia, cruelly. 

"Well, I won't detain you — at least, not 
long. I wonder if you would mind posting 
a letter for me as you pass the pillar-box ? 
I've almost finished it, and it ought to go 
to-night, and my maid Jessie has such a bad 
cold I really don't like sending her out with it." 

It would have been impossible to refuse to 
stay after that — even if he had wished. It 
would only be for a few minutes. Sylvia 
might spare him that much of her time. 
He should not troubte her again. So Mrs. 
Futvoye went back to her bureau, and Sylvia 
and he were practically alone. 

She had taken a seat not far from his, and 
mad^ a few constrained remarks, obviously 
out of sheer civility. He returned mechanical 
replies, with a dreary wonder whether this 
could really be the girl who had talked 
to him with such charming friendliness 
and confidence only a few weeks ago in 

And the worst of it was, she was looking 
more bewitching than ever ; her slim arms 
gleaming through the black lace of her 
sleeves, and the gold threads in her soft 
masses of chestnut hair sparkling in the 
light of the shaded lamp behind her. The 
slight contraction of her eyebrows and the 
mutinous downward curve of her mouth 
seemed expressive of boredom. 

" What a dreadfully long time mamma is 
over that letter ! " she said, at last. " I think 
I'd better go and hurry her up." 

" Please don't — unless you are particularly 
anxious to get rid of me." 

" I thought you seemed particularly anxious 
to escape," she said, coldly. "And, as a 
family, we have certainly taken up quite 
enough of your time for one day." 

" That is not the way you used to talk at 
St. Luc ! " he said. 

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"At St. Luc? Perhaps not. But in 
London everything is so different, you see." 

" Very different." 

" When one meets people abroad who — 
who seem at all inclined to be sociable," she 
continued, "one is so apt to think them 
pleasanter than they really are. Then one 
meets them again, and — and wonders what 
one ever saw to like in them. And it's no 
use pretending one feels the same, because 
they generally understand sooner or later. 
Don't you find that ? " 

" I do, indeed," he said, wincing, " though 
I don't know what I've done to deserve that 
you should tell me so ! " 

" Oh, I was not blaming you. You have 
been most angelic. I can't think how papa 
could have expected you to take all that 
trouble for him — still, you did, though you 
must have simply hated it." 

" But, good heavens ! don't you know I 
should be only too delighted to be of the 
least service to him — or to any of you ? " 

" You looked anything but delighted when 
you came in just now — you looked as if your 
one idea was to get it over as soon as you 
could. You know perfectly well you're 
longing now for mother to finish her letter 
and set you free. Do you really think I can't 
see that ? " 

" If all that is true, or partly true," said 
Horace, " can't you guess why ? " 

" I guessed how it was when you called 
here first that afternoon. Mamma had 
asked you to, and you thought you might as 
well be civil ; perhaps you really did think it 
would be pleasant to see us again — but it 
wasn't the same thing. Oh, I saw it in your 
face directly — you became conventional and 
distant and horrid, and it made me horrid 
too ; and you went away determined that 
you wouldn't see any more of us than you 
could help. That's why I was so furious 
when I heard that papa had been to see you, 
and with such an object." 

All this was so near the truth, and yet 
missed it with such perverse ingenuity, that 
Horace felt bound to put himself right. 

" Perhaps I ought to leave things as they 
are," he said, " but I can't. It's no earthly 
use, I know ; but may I tell you why it really 
was painful to me to meet you again ? I 
thought you were changed, that you wished 
to forget, and wished me to forget — only I 
can't — that we had been friends for a short 
time. And though I never blamed you — it 
was natural enough — it hit me pretty hard — 
so hard that I didn't feel anxious to repeat 
the experience." 

Original from 




" Did it hit you hard ? " said Sylvia, softly, 
*' Perhaps I minded too, just a very little. 
However," she added* with a sudden smile, 
that made two enchanting dimples in her 
cheeks, M it only shows how much more 
sensible it is to have things out. 2Vbw 
perhaps you won't persist in keeping away 
from us ? " 

"I believe," said Horace, gloomily, -still 
determined not to let any direct avowal pass 
his lips, " it would be best that I should keep 

Her half-closed eyes shone through their 
long lashes ; the violets on her breast rose and 
fell (i I don't think 'I understand," she said, 
in a tone that was both hurt and offended. 

There i s a 
pleasure in yield- 
ing to some temp- 
tations that more 
than compensates 
for the pain of any 
previous resist- 
ance* Come what 
might, he was not 
going 10 be mis- 
understood any 

" If I must tell 
you," he said, 
" I've fallen des- 
perately, hope- 
lessly, in love with 
you. Now you 
know the reason." 

"It doesn't 
seem a very good 
reason for want- 
ing to go away 
and never see me 
again. Does It?" 

u Not when IVe no right to speak to you 
of love ? " 

" But you've done that ! " 

* I know," he said, penitently ; H I 
couldn't help it. But I never meant to. It 
slipped out. I quite understand how hope- 
less it is." 

" Of course, if you are so sure as all that, 
you are quite right not to try/' 

" Sylvia ! You can't mean that — that you 
do care, after all ? " 

" Didn't you really see ? " she said, with a 
low, happy laugh. u How stupid of you 3 
And how dear ! " 

He caught her hand, which she allowed to 
rest contentedly in his. " Oh, Sylvia ! Then 
you do— you do ! But, my God, what a 
selfish brute I am ! For we can't marry. It 



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may be years before I can ask you to come 
to me. Your father and mother wouldn't 
hear of your being engaged to me." 

14 Need they hear of it just yet, Horace ? " 
" Yes, they must. I should feel a cur if 
I didn't tell your mother, at all events," 

" Then you shaVt feel a cur, for we'll go 
and tell her together." And Sylvia rose and 
went into the farther room, and put her 
arms round her mother's neck. ct Mother, 
darling," she said, in a half whisper, " it's 
really all your fault for writing such very 
long letters, but— but — we don't exactly 
know how we came to do it — but Horace 
and I have got engaged somehow. You 
aren't very angry, are you ? " 

"I think you're both ex- 
tremely foolish," said Mrs. 
Futvoye, as she extricated her- 
self from Sylvia's arms and 
turned to face Horace, 
" From all I hear, Mr. 
Ventimore, you're not in 
a position to 
marry at present," 
no, "said Horace ; 
4t I'm making 
nothing as yet. 
But my chance 
must come some 
day. I don't ask you to 
give me Sylvia til! then." 
" And you know you 
like Horace, mother ! " 
pleaded Sylvia, "And 
I'm ready to wait for him, any time. 
Nothing will induce me to give him 
and I shall never, never care for 
anybody else. So you see you may 
just as well give us your consent ! " 
11 I'm afraid IVe been to blame," said Mrs, 
Futvoye, " I ought to have foreseen this at 
St, Luc. Sylvia is our only child, Mr. Yenti- 
more, and I would far rather see her happily 
married than making what is called a 'grand 
match, 1 Still, this really docs seem rather 
hopeless. I am quite sure her father would 
never approve of it Indeed, it must not be 
mentioned to him — he would only be 

"So long as you are not against us," said 

Horace, "you won't forbid me to see her ?" 

" I believe I ought to," said Mrs, Futvoye; 

" but I don't object to your coming here 

occasionally, as an ordinary visitor. Only 

understand this — until you can prove to my 

husband's satisfaction that you are able to 

support Sylvia in the manner she has been 

" Original from 




" vms aren't verv ancjkv, 


there must be no 
formal engagement 
I think I am en- 
titled to ask that 
of you." 

She was so clearly 
within her rights, and so much more in- 
dulgent than Horace had expected— for he 
had always considered her an unsentimental 
and rather worldly woman — that he accepted 
her conditions almost gratefully. After all, 
it was enough for him that Sylvia returned 
his love, and that he should be allowed to 
see her from time to time. 

M It's rather a pity," said Sylvia, medita- 
tively, a little later, when her mother had 
gone back to her letter writing, and she and 
Horace were discussing the future ; " it's 
rather a pity that you didn't manage to get 
s&mtthing at that sale. It might have helped 
you with papa." 

11 Well, I did get something, ort my own 
account/' he said, " though I don't know 
whether it is likely to do me any good with 
your father." And he told her how he had 
come to acquire the brass bottle. 

" And you actually gave a guinea for it ?" 
said Sylvia, u when you could probably get 
exactly the same thing, only better, at 
Liberty's for about seven - and - sixpence ! 
Nothing of that sort has any charms for papa, 
unless it's dirty and dingy and centuries old," 

"This looks all that. I only bought it 
because, though it wasn't down on the cata- 
logue, I had a fancy that it might interest the 

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"Oh ! " cried Sylvia, clasping her pretty 
hands, " if only it does, Horace ! If it 
turns out to be tremendously rare and 
valuable! I do believe dad would be so 
delighted that he 3 d consent to anything. 
Ah, that's his step outside . . . . he's 
letting himself in. Now, mind you don*L 
forget to tell him about that bottle." 

The Professor did not seem in the 
sweetest of humours as he entered the 
drawing-room, " Sorry I was obliged to 
be from home, and there was nobody 
but my wife and daughter here to enter- 
tain you. But I am glad you stayed— 
yes, I'm rather glad you stayed." 

" So am I, sir," said Horace, and pro- 
ceeded to give his account of the sale, 
which did not serve to improve the Pro- 
fessor's temper. He thrust out his under 
lip at cerlain items in the catalogue. "I 
wish I'd gone myself," he said ; " that 
bowl, a really fine example of sixteenth 
century Persian work, going for only five 
guineas ! Yd willingly have given ten 
for it- There, there, I thought I could 
have depended on you to use your judg- 
ment better than that." 

"If you remember, sir, you strictly 
limited me to the sums you marked." 
"Nothing of the sort," said the Professor, 
testily; "my marginal notes were merely 
intended as indications, no more* You 
might have known that if you had secured 
one of the things at any price I should have 

Horace had no grounds for knowing any- 
thing of the kind, and much reason for 
believing the contrary, but he saw no use in 
arguing the matter further, and merely said 
he was sorry to have misunderstood. 

"No doubt the fault was mine," said 
the Professor, in a tone that implied the 
opposite. " Still, making every allowance for 
inexperience in these matters, I should have 
thought it impossible for anyone to spend a 
whole day bidding at a place like Hammond's 
without even securing a single article," 

"But, dad," put in Sylvia, "Mr. Ventimore 
did get one thing — on his own account. It's 
a brass bottle, not down in the catalogue, 
but he thinks it may be worth something 
perhaps And he'd very much like to have 
your opinion." 

"Tchah:" said the Professor. "Some 
modern bazaar work, most probably, He'd 
better have kept his money, What was this 
bottle of yours like, now, eh ? " 

Horace described it, " H J m, Seems to 
be what the Arabs call a * kum-kum, T probably 

Original from 



used as a sprinkler, or to hold rose-water, 
Hundreds of 'em about/' commented the 
Professor, crustily, 

** It had a lid, riveted or soldered on/' 
said Horace ; " the general shape was some- 
thing like this . , . " And he made a rapid 
sketch from memory, which the Professor 
took reluctantly, and then adjusted his glasses 
with some increase of 

" Ha — the form is 
antique, certainly. And 
the top hermetically 
fastened, eh? That 
looks as if it might con- 
tain something," 

" You don't think it 
has a genie inside, like 
the sealed jar the fisher- 
man found in the 
Arabian Nights ? f * cried 
Sylvia. "What fun if it 

" By genie, I presume 
you mean a Jinnee \ 
which is the more 
correct and scholarly 
term," said the Professor. 
" Female,_///rfftftfj j ^, and 
plural. Jinn. No, I do 
not contemplate that as 
a probable contingency* 
But it is not quite im- 
possible that a vessel 
closed as Mr. Ventimore 
describes may have been designed 
as a receptacle for papyri or other 
records of archaeological interest, 
which may be still in prest-rva- 
tion. I should recommend you, 
sir, to use the greatest precaution 
in removing the lid — don't expose the 
documents, if any, too suddenly to the outer 
air, and it would be better if you did not 
handle them yourself 1 shall be rather 
curious to hear whether it really does contain 
anything, and if so, what/ 1 

" I will open it as carefully as possible," 
said Horace, "and whatever it may contain, 
you may rely upon my letting you know at 

He left shortly afterwards, encouraged by 
the radiant trust in Sylvias eyes, and thrilled 
by the secret pressure of her hand at parting. 

He had been amply repaid for all the 
hours he had spent in the close sale-room. 
His luck had turned at hist : he was 
going to succeed ; he felt it in the air, as if 
he were already fanned by Fortune's pinions. 

Digitized by G< 

Still thinking of Sylvia, he let himself into 
the semi-detached old-fashioned house on the 
north side of Vincent Square, where he had 
lodged for some years. It was nearly twelve 
o'clock, and his landlady, Mrs. Rapkin, and 
her husband had already gone to bed. 

Ventimore went up to his sitting room, a 
comfortable apartment with two long windows 
opening on to a trellised 
veranda and balcony, a 
room which, as he had 
furnished and decorated 
it himself to suit his 
own tastes, had none of 
the depressing ugliness 
of typical lodgings. 

It was quite dark, for 
the season was too mild 
for a fire, and he had to 
grope for the matches 
before he could light 
his lamp. After he had 
done so and turned up 
the wicks, the first object 
he saw was the bulbous, 
long - necked jar which 
he had bought that after- 
noon, and which now 
stood on the stained 
boards near the mantel- 
piece. It had been 
delivered with unusual 

Somehow he felt a 
sort of repulsion at the 
sight of it. " It's a beastlier 
looking object than I thought," 
he said to himself, disgustedly, 
li A chimney-pot would be about 
as decorative and appropriate in 
my room. What a thundering 
ass I was to waste a guinea on it ! I 
wonder if there really is anything inside it 
It is so infernally ugly that it ought to be 
useful The Professor seemed to fancy it 
might hold documents, and he ought to 
know, Anyway, 111 find out before I turn in." 
He grasped it by its long, thick neck, and 
tried to twist the cap off— but it remained 
firm, which was not surprising, seeing that it 
was thickly coated with a lava-like crust. 

" I must get some of that off first, and 
then try again/' he decided, and after foraging 
downstairs, he returned with a hammer and 
chisel, with which he chipped away the crust 
till the line of the cap was revealed, and an 
uncouth metal knob that seemed to be a catch, 
This he tapped sharply for some time, 
and again attempted to wrench off the 
Original from 





lid. Then he gripped the vessel between 
his knees and put forth all his strength, 
while the bottle seemed to rock and 
heave under him in sympathy. The 
cap was beginning to give way, very 
slightly; one last wrench— and it 

ri:r.[ a sour <jk KEPULSlOtf 


came off in his hand with such suddenness 
that he was flung violently backwards, and 
hit the back of his head smartly against an 
angle of the wainscot. 

He had a vague impression of the bottle 
lying on its side, with dense volumes of hiss- 
ing, black smoke pouring out of its mouth 
ancl towering up in a gigantic column to the 
ceiling ; he was conscious, too, of a pungent 
and peculiarly overpowering perfume. " I've 
gut hold of some sort of infernal machine/' he 
thought, " and I shall be all over the square 
in less than a second ! " And, just as he 
arrived at this cheerful conclusion, he lost 
consciousness altogether. 

He could not have been unconscious 
for more than a few seconds, for when he 
opened his eyes the room was still thick 
with smoke, through which he dimly dis- 
cerned the figure of a stranger, who seemed 
of abnormal and almost colossal height 
But this must have been an optical illusion 
caused by the magnifying effects of the 
smoke ; for, as it cleared, his visitor proved 
to be of no more than ordinary stature. He 
was elderly t and, indeed, venerable of appear 
ance, and wore an Eastern robe and head- 

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dress of a dark- 
green hue. He 
stood there with 
uplifted hands, 
uttering some- 
thing in a loud 
tone and a lan- 
guage unknown 
to Horace. 

V e n t im ore, 
being still some- 
what dazed, felt 
no surprise at see- 
ing him. Mrs. 
Rapkirimust have 
let her, second 
floor at last — to 
some Oriental. 
He would have 
preferred an 
Englishman as a 
fellow-lodger, but 
this foreigner 
must have noticed 
the smoke and 
rushed in to offer 
assistance, which was both neighbourly and 
plucky of him. 

" Awfully good of you to come in, sir," he 
said, as he scrambled to his feet* "I don't 
know what's happened exactly* but there's no 
harm done. I'm only a trifle shaken, that's 
all By the way, I suppose you can speak 

"Assuredly I can speak so as to be under- 
stood by all whom I address, 11 answered the 
stranger. " Dost thou not understand my 
speech ? " 

" Perfectly, now/' said Horace, * e But 
you made a remark just now which I 
didn't follow — would you mind repeating 

H l said: 'Repentance, O Prophet of 
God ! I will not return to the like conduct 
ever/ " 

" Ah/ 7 said Horace. Li I daresay you were 
rather startled. So was I when I opened 
that bottle." 

"Tell me — was it indeed thy hand that 
removed the seal, O young man of kindness 
and good works ? ;J 

" I certainly did open it," said Ventimore, 
11 though I don't know where the kindness 
comes in — for I've no notion what was inside 
the thing." 

"/ was inside it, Tr said the stranger, 


Original from 

Where British Sailors Learn to Shoot. 

By E. A, Br ay lev Hodgetts. 


From a Photo, ttv (?. Witt A Snn y S?MA*w, 


HE war in the Transvaal 
once more demonstrated 
handiness of Jack Tar r 
public will therefore be inter- 
ested in hearing a]l about the 
place where British sailors 
learn how to " shoot straight/' 

There are many mud-banks in Portsmouth 
Harbour-— one of these is called Whale Island, 
It was when Captain Percy Scott, who now 
commands the Terrible to such purpose in 
South Africa, and who devised the means for 
moving the big naval guns to the front, was 
commander of the Excellent that Whale 
Island definitely ceased to be a mad bank. 
The Excellent was commissioned in 1833, 
by Sir Thomas 
Hastings, as a gun- 
nery school for the 
Navy, and such it 
has remained 
through these many 
years with varying 
fortunes. Some- 
times it was the 
Queen Charlotte, 
sometimes the lllus- 
trw&s, or the Cal- 
cutta^ upon whom 
the name and 

mantle of the old Excellent descended ; 
now it is a reclaimed mud-bank. 

The original object of the annexation was 
to provide a convenient drill-ground and a 
shooting-range for the new patterns of long- 
distance guns. It was not until 1883 that 
Whale Island was converted into the bar- 
racks which it is now. Difficult of access, 
the place is approached to-day by the 
average civilian from a neighbourhood of 
interminable red-brick two-story houses, poor 
but scrupulously clean. No mud-bank greets 
the eye. Convict labour has altered all that, 
and where formerly there was nothing but a 
humble mud hut, there are now handsome 
buildings, a beautiful green lawn, a gravelled 
parade ground, trees, a battery, and neatness 
and orderliness everywhere. To judge by 
the appearance of the officers and men, the 
salubrity of the place is unquestionable. The 
earth thrown up by harbour and dockyard 
excavations has been thrown upon the mud, 
which had previously received a bed of 
concrete, and by means of piles and ballast a 
fine and firm piece of land has been 
literally created, having an area of about 
seventy acres. Upon this splendid site, 
surrounded as it is by water, have been erected 
a battery, officers' quarters, men's quarters, a 
gymnasium and museum, a drill-hall, and 
innumerable other buildings, all retaining 
their nautical nomenclature. Here and on 
board the Cambridge the officers and men of 
the British Navy receive their instruction in 
gunnery. The sub-lieutenants from the ad- 
joining Naval College come here to learn 
their drill and hear lectures. 

In order to see Whale Island and get 
"on board" her, we must be ferried across. 
At the guard house we are met by a sentry 
and a petty officer; who takes our card and 
gives it to a messenger to carry it to the 

by Google 

From a Photo, frp /**. StrWMand. of il tf>. 



ginal from 



commander. We are then conducted to 
the quarter-deck, which is an enormous 
space payed with flag -stones beautifully 
white in front of a large building containing 
the museum, the gymnasium, and the lecture- 
hall. It is surmounted by a clock-tower. 
Here is the marine sentry, and another 
marine, the bugler; here is the ship's bell, 
and here the men are inspected before going 
u on shore." We are practically standing on 
one side oF a huge quadrangle. In front of 
us lias a soft, green lawn, large, level, and 
beautiful — suggestive of lawn tennis and 
happiness ; to our right is the handsome 
facade of the officers' quarters, with the 
figure-head of the old Queen Charfatte, one 
of the many Excellent^ over the entrance. 
Facing us, and nearly half a mile distant, is 

Presently* the first lieutenant brings us 
before the captain* who introduces us to the 
commander, and now our tale of wonder 
begins. The genial commander takes us in 
hand and shows us everything of interest on 
the island. 

Of course, the first thing to see is the 
battery. This is fitted to reproduce the con- 
ditions obtaining on board ship as much as 
possible. The guns are pointed at port-holes, 
through which we get glimpses of the har- 
bour. The ship is supposed to be going 
twelve knots an hour. When we entered, the 
men were still at their gun drill, and a 
splendid sight it was to see that inter- 
minable row of guns tended by the^e active 
fellows, who were jumping about training 
them. It seemed absurd to expect poor, 

Fruma PhuUi. by] 


IDr. Strirtland. 

a long, l"w building this is the battery. To 
our left is the drill-hall, with a large, gravelled 
parade ground between it and the lawn. In 
the distance, in the extreme left corner of 
the island, we can just descry certain for- 
bidding-looking iron structures— these a re 
cranes for the hoisting of big guns ; and 
everywhere are the merry faces, magnificent 
shoulders, and supple, lithe figures of our 
jolly tars, rushing to and fro on some 
errand or other. Now and then we 
get a glimpse of a toy railway bringing 
more earth to add to what we see, for the 
expansion of Whale Island, like that of 
England itself, is still going on ; and so 
we can also descry occasionally parties of 
dejected individuals in parti -coloured clothes, 
attended by armed men. These are the con- 
victs who are doing time, and whose criminal 
propensities have brought them, against their 
inclination, to the performance of a great and 
useful service to their country. 

Digitized by GoOglc- 

mortal man to direct and control these 
monsters, but still it looked very easy when it 
was done. By turning a wheel or moving a 
pivot, these enormous engines of destruction 
could be guided and manipulated with as 
much ease as a toy cannon. Here are guns 
of every description, all the patterns in use in 
the Navy being of necessity represented ; even 
some of the old-fashioned muzzle-loaders are 
not wanting, for several of our ships, unfortu- 
nately, still carry them, and the men must 
know how to use them, As new patterns 
supersede old ones, the new guns are intro- 
duced, but the old ones are not displaced 
until they have been entirely abolished in the 
Service generally. There are about thirty odd 
guns in the battery, including machine guns, 
quick-firing guns, hydraulic worked guns 
(both turret and barbette), and 4m., 5 in., 
6in,, and 9*2111* breechloaders. This last is 
the biggest gun here, and is such a size 
that the imagination refuses to {jrasp the 




ftvm v\ 



possibility of a in ton gun, for this one 
is only a 2 tons. It is fitted for drawing-room 
practice, as the commander pleasantly ex- 
plained, for a rifle- tube has been placed in it, 
which in turn holds an aiming-tube, so that 
this roaring lion among guns has been made 
as gentle as a cooing dove. It has a remark- 
able target, consisting of the silhouette of a 
man-o f -vvar about a foot long, so as to give 
the effect of distance ; this is mounted at 
a distance of about 30yds., upon a series 
of concealed eccentric rollers — a string is 
pulled, and the model works, and rolls 
about and pitches 
just as though if 
were at sea. The 
model is also used 
for night practice, 
when electrically 
illuminated si ghts 
are used. The 
little ironclad is 
then fired at, under 
circumstances so 
realistic that the 
only difference be- 
tween the mimic 
and the actual war- 
fare is that in the 
latter case the shot 
should weigh 
6oolh», when as 
in the former it 

does not weigh more than a quarter of an 

When this target was shown the German 
Emperor upon his last visit to Whale Island — 
for he often has a look round — he was told 
that the model was supposed to be a French 
ironclad, whereupon His Majesty is reported 
to have replied: 4t I am glad it is a French 

But the favourite gun is the serviceable 
47 quick-firing gun, which fires a shot weigh- 
ing 451b*, and requires a cartridge of 12IL 
weight. This is a very respectable round, 

From a\ 

*i by CiC 



Fri^fftal from 




'rum a J 



and quite serious enough for most purposes. 
Nearly all our cruisers carry this handy little 
weapon. Big as the battery is — it has a 
length of 600ft— the authorities propose 
erecting a continuation for the quick-firing 
and machine guns only* 

Near the parade-ground, where* when it is 
fine, the men go through infantry and machine 
and field gun drill, and cutlass and rifle 
practice, there is a small machine-gun battery 
which consists of two guns placed on movable 
plat forms , which are worked by a winch to 
produce a rolling motion. The target is also 
movable, so that here all the conditions of 
actuality are reproduced. In bad weather 
the men are drilled in the drill-hall- They 
turn out splendidly, and their military bearing 
on parade is perfect. 

We now retrace our steps to the handsome 
building in which are the officers' quarters : 
the mess-room, smoking and billiard rooms, 
etc, The mess-room is sometimes used as a 
ballroom, for life on board Whale Island, 

although not all beer and skittles, has many 
amenities. Then we find there is a racket- 
court, as fine as that at Prince's Club, in the 
vicinity of the mess-room. We also learn 
that occasionally rinktng parties are given on 
the white deal plank deck of the battery. On 
these occasions the beauties of Southsea 
disport themselves gaily among the deadly 
engines of warfare, and the susceptible hearts 
of the careless young officers often find the 
bright fire of a pair of eyes more dangerous 
than the steady old guns. The sportsman 
officer, who disdains soft dalliance and thirsts 
for nobler sport than rackets, can vent his 
murderous propensities on pigeons. One end 
of the island is a sort of Hurlingham, where 
pigeon-shooting matches take place from time 
to time, and prizes are contested for. Tennis 
parties are also given on the lawn. 

From all this it will be jeen that, so far as 
the officers are concerned, at least, the island 
is not unlike an admirably appointed social 
club, with just a few routine duties thrown in 

■ — __. 

11 [ill {MS™** 








From a] 


to vary the tedium of endless amusement I 
fancy the officers themselves take a less 
optimistic view of their life, but we all 
know that it is the privilege of Englishmen 
to grumble. 

Let us see what sort of a lot falls to poor 
Jack. Poor Jack's sweet little cherub, who 
sits up aloft, has looked after his life on 
Whale Island with more than its ordinary care. 
Behind the officers' quarters are those of the 
men ; they consist of eight blocks of buildings, 
each composed of four long rooms, in which 
from twenty- five to thirty men are comfort- 
ably accommodated. The cleanliness and 
neatness of these dormitories are beyond 
description. The walls and ceilings are 
whitewashed, the floors are laid with canvas, 
and there is a beautifully clean deal table in 
the centre where the men mess* They do 

not sleep in ham- 
mockSj hut iron 
bedsteads ; they 
have plenty of blan- 
kets, and lots of 
room for their kit. 
Behind the dormi- 
tories are the bath- 
rooms, with hot and 
cold water, the hair- 
dressing establish- 
ment, where there 
are machine-brushes 
and every luxury , 
and the wash- 
houses. It is amus- 
ing to see Jack 
doing his own wash- 
ing, and scrubbing 
away like a laundry- 
maid. But sailors 
have to do every- 
thing for themselves, and so they are 
encouraged to make their own clothes, and 
they do them much better than the con- 
tractor. Jack, unlike his brother in arms, 
Tommy Atkins, gets no outfit from his 
country, but provides his own clothes, his 
pay being in proportion* and hence there is a 
store-room on the island where he can get his 
clothes ; hut if he should prefer to buy his 
materials and make his clothes himself, he can 
do this also, and makes a great saving thereby, 
for the cloth is sold to him at cost price. 

But the glory of Whale Island is its 
canteen* Just as the officer has all the 
amenities of a club, so has Jack- Every 
night there is a smoking concert, and on 
guest nights the officers invariably come in, 
and assist in entertaining the men. The 
room where these entertainments take place 




Pfrtti n Photo, bft) 

A l'lfcl,l>UAY, 

by KjmQ 


Original from 

[J>r, Strickland. 



From a] 


is a large hall fitted with little marble-slabbed 
tables and innumerable chains. At one end 
is the platform, upon which stands the piano ; 
near the platform are chairs for the officers, 
at the other end is the bar. We have heard 
all the latest popular songs admirably sung 
from this platform — sometimes by men, 
sometimes by officers. Jack loves dancing 
passionately, and in the intervals between the 
songs it is amusing to see the men take off 
their shoes, invite each other to a valse or a 
polka, and solemnly tread the mazy dance as 
though it were a religious rite, Occasionally, 
this hall is used for popular lectures, illus- 
trated by the magic lantern. 
, Over the hall ard the club-rooms, billiard- 
tables, writing and reading rooms, etc. Hard 
by is a bowling-alley. The canteen is 
managed, on co-operative principles, by a 
committee composed. of a member of each 
mefjS, and presided over by the commander. 
Everything is sold at what is practically cost 
price, yet the canteen makes a small profit, 
which pays for the social amenities provided. 
In one corner of this building there is even 
a small electrical workshop. 

Each mess selects its own cook, who is 
also the caterer ; the rations are all put 
together ; such extras as are wanted are pur- 
chased at cost price at the canteen, and the 
cooking is done in the huge kitchen, called 
the galley, which contains a range capable of 
cooking the food of 1.500 men ! The galley 
itself is a picture of neatness, but one is 
inclined to be sceptical of the culinary attain- 
ments of the cooks. A vague notion seems 

by Google 

to prevail that 
these cooks are 
not entirely dis- 
interested, and, 
like their proto- 
types on shore, 
manage to turn 
their office to a 
good account 

From the above 
description the 
reader will gather 
that Jack's life on 
board Whale 
Island is not lin- 
en via blej nor were 
we surprised to 
hear that when the 
time comes round 
for him to leave it 
he does so with 
regret; The great 
town of Ports- 
mouth is close by 3 and the men are allowed 
to go on shore almost as much as they like, 
after four o'clock that is, provided they 
are on duty again at seven in the morning. 
It is a pleasant, healthy, happy life, and the 
men look thoroughly jolly and contented. 

As is well known, we catch our sailors 
young and keep them long. In this respect 
their fate is more enviable than that of 
Tommy Atkins. There are numerous duties 
upon which superannuated sailors can be 
employed, and at Whale Island, for instance, 
there is a permanent staff of pensioners, who 
keep the lawn in order and do a quantity of 
routine work, analogous to that done by 
pioneers in a garrison. 

The training of the men at Whale Island 
includes: company and battalion drill, forti- 
fication and trench exercise, heavy gun drill, 
breech and muzzle loading, hydraulic- worked 
guns, machine and field gun drill, and rocket 
drill, for saving life at sea, They have also to 
learn all about ammunition, and the different 
powders and fuses used. They must also 
pass through a course of heavy gun-firing in 
the gunboats, and a course of musketry* 

For gun -firing practice the Excellent 
possesses a small fleet of nine gunboats, and 
an ironclad, the Hero. The gunboats go out 
to practise off Spithead, and the Hero makes 
periodica] trips to Portland for target practice. 
There is also a special course of instruction 
provided for the armourers, who learn at the 
dockyard the mysteries of riveting and armour- 
plating, and are generally fitted to execute any 
repairs that an ironclad may require at sea. 

Original from 






Having left the men's quarters we look in 
at th^ museum, lecture-hall, and gymnasium 
before taking leave of the commander. In 
the gymnasium we find boxing, fencing, and 
gymnastics are taught. Here are the trapeze, 
the horizontal bar, the climbing poles, etc 
At the moment when we looked in a party of 
men were learning musical drill In the 
museum are found collections of all those 
objects the men have to learn about : shots, 
shells, fuses, cartridges, armour-plates, etc 
Of the lecture-hall we need not say much, 
beyond mentioning that it is well ventilated 
and comfortably 

We now take 
leave of the com- 
mander and return 
to Portsmouth. 
On our way back 
reflections throng 
the brain, the im- 
pressions obtained 
form a wild kalei- 
doscope — every- 
thing is mixed up, 
and we wonder 
how we shall ever 
be able to give an 
account of all that 
has been seen. 
One thing, how- 
ever, impresses 
itself upon the 
writer, and that 
is this : that as ^^^^j 

Digitized by L^OOQ le 

Whale Island 
has justified its 
existence by the 
splendid results ob- 
tained, why should 
not a similar plan 
be adopted with the 
Vernon and the 
depot ships the Vic- 
tor}- and the Welling- 
ton*} Jack's life at 
sea is none too 
comfortable ; why 
should he not have 
his reward on 
shore? Instead of 
being cooped up 
between the decks 
of badly -ventilated 
and obsolete men- 
o'-war, why not 
accommodate him 
in roomy barracks? 
the marines have 
should the sailors 

At VValmer already 
their barracks ; why 
and marines at Portsmouth not be equally 
well cared for? There is plenty of room 
and waste land about, and I cannot but 
think that the adoption of such a plan 
could only have a beneficial effect upon the 
health and discipline of the men, and I 
am, moreover, confirmed in this opinion by 
the splendid object-lesson of Whale Island. 
Our Navy is already an extremely popular 
Service, but that is no reason why we should 
not try to improve it. 

THE WHALE I5LAKP BA^U. 1 £__ __ 

vJriqTnal from 

[,Pr, 5Jrk*Ja*t 


By F. M. White, 


RENTON DENN lounged 
into the editorial sanctum of 
the New York Post, his hands 
plunged into the pockets of a 
Norfolk jacket- In one corner 
of his mouth he wore a green 
cigar, which he took no trouble to remove. 
The great man opposite carried a short pipe 
between his teeth, also he was minus coat 
and vest. All the same, Peregrine Pryde 
was a great man, and some day might be 
President. Meanwhile he preferred to 
control the destiny of perhaps the smartest 
pajKT on earth. 

" Halloa, yon turned up again?'' he 

u Cuba," Denn said, parenthetically. He 
slanted a dingy straw hat over his left eye, 
"Got a scare article or two for. you. Costly 
work, though, That last cheque of yours 
for exes went no way." 

" Hang the money, so long as you get the 
Stuff," said Pryde. " I'm glad you've com£ 
back, all the same. That your dog?" 

Venn nodded, and slightly beamed in the 

direction of a rough nomadic terrier coiled 
up near his chair. 

" Name's Prince," he explained ; " does 
anything but talk, in which he has the advan- 
tage of you and me, C iot a job for me, eh ? B 

" Rather. Wants lot of pluck and daring, 
but danger is one of your weaknesses. 
You've heard of the ' Fire Bugs,' of course? 
No ! Well, at any rate, you are aware that 
the annual number of fires in New York are 
out of all proportion to those in London, for 
instance. Rumours have reached me from 
time to time that there is an organized gang 
of ruffians, who make it their business to set 
fire to premises in such a way that the 
brigade are unable to prevent anything short 
of total loss. Of course, the game is to 
insure a bogus stock, and then bleed the 
insurance companies." 

"And I'm to find out whether this is true 
or not ? T ' 

"Oh, it's true enough," Pryde exclaimed* 
u One of the gang told me all that in this 
very office. That little bit of information 
cost our old man five hundred dollars, and 
cheap at thCtfj£lft£l from 




" Why didn't the chap go to the police ?" 

u Said the sight of an officer always made 
him faint," Piyde said, drily. ** Besides, there 
was money in corning here, and revenge, too, 
because Jacob *Reski has quarrelled with the 
gang and means to expose them -or, rather, 
he proposes to leave the exposure to us. 
There's all the material for a big thing 
here, and Tm putting it in your hands to 

Demi was interested. There was all the 
material ready for a pretty adventure, to say 
nothing of rare journalistic kudos at the finish* 
And Denn was always ready to sacrifice his 
dinner for an adventure. His sheer love of 
danger made him the pearl of correspondents 
that he was. 

When the Post people lent themselves to 
these classic exposures money was quite a 
secondary consideration. With his straw hat 
tilted over his eyes, Denn rapidly thought the 
matter out. 

** I shall have to take the rote of a German 
Jew trader," he said. l * You must set me 
up in business with a bogus stock and a big 
insurance. I shall leave you to make it all 
square with the insurance people. All I ask 
you to do now is to bring Reski and myself 

In the course of a day or two the matter 
was arranged. In the purlieus of New Y T ork 
Denn discovered a Semitic gentleman anxious 
to return to Germany, and who was only too 
glad to dispose of his lease and stock for a 
■consideration. The insurance people were 
naturally ready to fall in with any scheme calcu- 
lated to put a stop to the progress of the " Fire 
Bugs/ 1 Not only did 
they issue a heavy 
policy to Nicholas 
Mayer — Denn's nam 
dc gmerre—bat they 
also considerately 
dated the policy 
three years back, 
and gave L)enn 
receipts tor all pre- 

Denn deemed it 
prudent to potter 
about his newly- 
obtained premises 
for a few days before 
he took any further 
steps. Business 
troubled him not at 
all, for the simple 
reason that there 
did not seem to be 

VoL xix.— 4. 

any. And the sixth evening after dark Jacob 
Reski appeared. 

He was a little man with a glittering, evil 
eye, and the liquid speech of a born histrion. 
Within the hour he had imparted to Denn 
information that caused the latter to long for 
immediate action, 

" Fm afraid I can't assist you any 
further/' Reski concluded* M Til show you 
where Moses Part and the rest of the gang 
make their head ■ quarters. You'll easily 
manage it if you know your way about/* 

Denn hastened to assure the speaker that 
his bump of locality left nothing to he desired. 
An hour later, carefully disguised, he found 
himself seated alone in one of the most evil 
and unsavoury saloons in the Bowery. Some 
time elapsed before Denn began to spot his 
men. They were exceedingly shy and 
suspicious to begin with, but Denn was an 
adept at the game, and ere the evening 
had passed he had convinced them that 
he was as great a blackguard as anyone 

It was an evening or two later before 
Denn dared to come to the point. Moses 
Part, a picturesque ruffian with one eye, gave 
him the lead Altogether the " Fire Bugs" 
were five in number, Taking them by and 
large, a more repulsive quintette it would 
have been hard to imagine. 

Denn listened to their exploits with a 
smile which concealed a longing to whip out 
a revolver and clear the party on sight. If 
all they said was true, the insurance com- 
panies must have been robbed of millions of 
dollars. Many (ires resulting in serious loss 



by Google 

Original from 



of life were openly owned to by the ruffians 
around Denn. 

" I've half a mind," he said, hesitatingly, 
" to get you to grease my little lot." 

Moses Part pricked up his ears. 

" And what have you got ? " he asked, 
eagerly. "Ach, I knew it was coming. I 
guessed what you was after the first night you 
was here." 

Denn admitted his store in Tiffany Street. 
There was practically no stock, though at one 
time the business had been a flourishing one, 
which statement Denn concluded with a 
cocking of his little finger. 

" Have you a bolicy ? " Part asked, 

" For ten thousand dollars," Denn re- 
sponded. " A policy three years old and 
all the premiums paid. You can see it for 

Part's eye gleamed over this treasure. 
Everything appeared to be perfectly in order. 
And a policy three years old was a gem 
rarely handled by the " Fire Bugs." 

" Mine friendt," he said, earnestly, " dose 
dollars was already in our bockets. Half 
for you and the rest between us. Not dat 
we trust you altogether, ach no. You 
assign your stock and bolicy to a friendt of 
mine first, and then we get to work. I 
will come to your little place to-morrow 
after dark and plan out the thing exactly." 


Drenton Denn's professional instinct led 
him on to a good thing as surely as a steady 
hound on the trail. And he was now on 
one of the biggest " scoops " of his career. 

How deep and wide were the ramifications 
of the " Fire Bugs " the New York authorities 
never dreamed. That there was something 
wrong somewhere they were vaguely aware, 
and more than one insurance corporation 
writhed uneasy before the spectral dividend. 
Arson was steadily gaining in popularity, 
being at the same time remunerative and 
exceedingly hard to prove. That an organized 
gang were working the thing scientifically 
was known only to the select few. 

Nor was Drenton Denn aware what a big 
thing it was until he went carefully into 
figures. Per head of the population, the 
New York fires were as four to one compared 
to London, even with the latter handicapped 
by the deadly low flash-point, and the loss 
of life owing to the conflagrations was in a 
still more startling ratio. 

Indeed, the " Fire Bugs " seemed to rather 
like sacrificing a life or two. It lent realism 

by Google 

to the crime and averted suspicion. The 
more Denn dwelt on the matter, the clearer 
did he see that he was on the brink of a 
tragedy calculated to move continents. 

With the omnivorous appetite of the 
Pressman he wanted everything for himself 
and his paper. The exposure of the doings 
of the " Fire Bugs " and the hunting down of 
the gang must be all his own. He knew 
quite enough now to cause the arrest and 
conviction of Moses Part and his merry 
men, but, as to their methods, Denn had 
yet a great deal to learn. 

But that was all coming. In the part of 
Nicholas Mayer, Denn could see everything 
when his establishment in Tiffany Street was 
primed for the destroyer. The assurance 
policy had been duly assigned, and, this 
being done, Moses Part set to work at 
once. Two nights later a cart drove up to 
6 1 1, Tiffany Street, and deposited certain 
innocent-looking packages at Denn's osten- 
sible business premises. A little later on 
Part came along, followed by the rest of the 
infamous gang. The packages contained a 
drum or two of petroleum, some scores of 
yards of thick hay -bands, a few shallow 
wooden tubs, and a basket or two of corks. 
Evidently the " Fire Bug " business was an 

" We'll get to work at once," said Part. 
"In a couple of hours' time there won't be 
much left of this crazy old show." 

Denn watched the proceedings with the 
greatest interest. The four men worked 
silently together as if drilled to the part. 
There were three floors to the house alto- 
gether, and it speedily became evident to 
Denn that the idea was to set them aflame 

In the centre of the shop — or warehouse, 
rather — situated at the back of the premises, 
Moses Part placed one of the flat, shallow 
tubs. Into this one of his confederates 
proceeded to pour a quantity of petroleum. 
On the top of the blue spirit he sprinkled 
corks until the surface was covered. 

Then the end of the fluffy hay-band was 
placed in the tub and dragged across the 
floor. Into the hay-band naphtha had been 
rubbed. Like a scaly snake the hay-band 
was carried up the stairs and twisted in and 
out of the banisters until the next floor was 
reached, and here another tub of paraffin, 
corks and all, was similarly placed as below. 
Once more the same programme was gone 
through, until the hay-band ended in a tub of 
petroleum on the top floor. Around these 
two latter tanks Part and his men collected 

Original from 




shavings, pieces of paper, cardboard boxes, 
and the like. 

14 All done," Part growled. "There's only 
one more thing now." 

Denn looked up at the speaker. His 
hooked nose was curved over his thick upper 
lip in a horrible smile. It seemed to Denn 
that his eyes were aflame with anger* Then 
Part looked down 
again, and the evil 
flame died out like a 
passing fire, 

"What's that?" 
Denn asked, sus- 

"It's to set fire to 
the show," Part has- 
tened to respond. 
"That's al)." 

Denn remarked 
that he hadn't quite 
got the hang of it* 
He was vaguely con- 
scious that things 
were not altogether 
right, but as a 
conscien tious 
journalist he 
could not afford 
to neglect detail. 
The popular vo- 
racity for detail 
he fully under- 

"Come down 
to the basement, 
and I'll show 

you/' said Part, "What we want to get is a 
fire in three places at once." 

11 1 think I understand," said Denn. 
Again that terrible smile came flashing 
over Part's face. 

"I'm sure you will presently/' he muttered, 
" Leading up to yonder tub is a slow match. 
This will burn for half an hour before it 
reaches the petroleum, and give us all a chance 
to get away in safety. Directly the flame gets 
to the oil those casks begin to blaze, and the 
sides of the tub are on fire also- As they 
burn down the blazing oil runs all over the 
floor. Meanwhile the hay -band carries the 
flame rapidly upstairs to the next tub, and so 
on to the top floor of the house. Within ten 
minutes there are three roaring fires going on 
three floors- You see, my friendt? " 

" Precisely," Denn responded, not without 
enthusiasm. " A most ingenious idea ! No 
wonder that your movements are hard to 


by Google 

" And there is nothing else we can tell 

Denn looked up suddenly* There was an 
ominous change in the timbre of Part's voice, 
a ring that clearly spoke of danger. And it 
seemed to Denn that the rest of the gang 
gathered threateningly around him. As he 
glanced to the door> Part smiled grimly. 

u There is nothing 
else/' said Denn. 

" So ; then you are 
completely satisfied? 
Now you know every- 
thing of the method 
of the l Fire Bugs. 1 
As what you call 
merely a guarantee 
of good faith, and 
not for publication." 
" What on earth 
do you mean by 

"Ach! What a 
question to be asked 
by Mr, D rent on 

Every muscle in 
DemVs body drew 
taut and trembling. 
He wasted no time 
in words, for he was 
essentially a man of 
action. Almost 
before Part had 
ceased to speak, 
Denn had flown at 
him like a cat. A 
small, compact fist, shod with knuckles like 
steel, caught Part fairly on the point of 
the jaw, and down he went like an empty 

Denn flashed round, and another. ruffian 
dropped sideways before a tremendous blow 
behind the ear, Denn slipped for the door. 
As he did so a foot shot out and locked his 
instep, and Denn staggered and fell. Instantly 
the other two dropped a-top of him. 

It was a hopeless struggle from the first — 
a grim silence, broken only by the heavy 
breathing of three panting bodies, and the 
whining barking of Denn's dog quivering in 
a distant corner. Denn fought with all the 
tenacious courage of despair, till a bash, 
fairly between the eyes, caused the stars to 
flash and dazzle, and induced a tendency to 

When Denn came to himself again his 
hands were securely fastened by a thong of 
raw hide, as also were his feet. Part, with an 
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ugly grin on his face, and a mat of blood in 
his beard, was busily engaged in hammering 
two strong staples into the black, oaken floor. 

"What's your 
game? ! * Denn asked, 
between his u-t-ib. 

"You'll find that 
out presently," Part 
" We've known 
who you were 
for a day or two, 
for all your 
clever disguise. 
And so yoi 
thought you 
were going 
to find out 
our secrets, 
and give us 
away as you 
did Dick 
Ach, you 
are a very 
man, but 
not clever 
enough to 
know we 
should keep a 
close watch on 
Jacob Reski, 
And when he 
went to your 
office " 

said," Denn interrupted. " What are these 
staples for ? " 

11 To fasten you down to the floor. Oh, 
we are going to give you every opportunity 
of seeing how it ? s done. And we are going 
to wind part of that hay-band round yimr 
body so that the fire will pass all round you 
on its way to the next floor. A bit painful, 
perhaps, but it's going to be done* And when 
the house is burnt down and you with it, we 
shall just go and collect yuur insurance 
money, Mr. Denn*" 

Denn checked a sudden desire to speak. 
Then he smiled grimly. If he was to he 
tortured first and burnt alive afterwards, he 
would die with one satisfaction in his heart. 
The man who called to collect the insurance 
money on that assignment would have an 
unpleasant surprise. 

Bitterly Denn cursed his own imprudences* 
He might just as well have had assistance 

Digitized by GoOQlc 


close to hand in case of accident. But pro- 
fessional pride and jealousy, the desire to 
do everything off his own bat, had been his 

undoing. There was 
no help for it now. 

Of fear, Denn 
gave no sign what- 
ever* Nor was he 
afraid. The domi- 
nating emotion was 
rage and anger at 
his own folly. 

M Very well," he 

said, " do your worst. 

For the present I am 

■ juite helpless* I am 

not afraid of you." 

" Oh, you're not 

that," muttered 

Part. " Seems a 

pity to waste so 

good a man* I 

only wish Fd got 

a dozen like you." 


Denn offered no 
opposition to the 
scoundrels. Such 
a thing would be 
futile and child- 
ish, and might, 
moreover, result 
in a tap on the 
head that would 
render him inde- 
pendent of this 
mundane sphere 
for all time ; whereas, whilst there is life 
there is hope> and some chain of fate might 
yet temper the wind. De tin's nature was, 
above all things, buoyant. 

The loose slack of hay-band was twisted 
round and round him up to the shoulders, so 
that presently he would be in a zone of seeth- 
ing (lame, and utterly powerless to arrest its 
progress on its errand of destruction. He 
would have to lie there quivering with the 
anguish of the diabolical torture until the 
collapse of the house would bring merciful 

At the expiration of five minutes Denn 
was stretched out on the floor taut and rigid, 
his feet and shoulders extended painfully by 
the raw-hide straps that were attached to the 
staples in the floor. His arms were pinned 
to his sides* There was a touch of the tor- 
tures of Tantalus in this. The hope that 
Denn might get his hands free would only 
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add to his mental agony. Part regarded his 
handicraft with grim satisfaction. 

u I fancy you'll do now," he said. " If 
you do manage to escape you'll have some- 
thing to write about that will do the Post 
good. Quite comfortable ? " 
Denn's eyes flashed like frosty stars. 
"I cannot sufficiently thank you for all 
this attention," he snapped. " Do you think 
I am going to show the white feather, you 
dog? Go and leave me to die like a man. 
Be off with you." 
Part backed away, with a mocking bow. 
" Good night," he said. " It's a cold 
evening, and perhaps I ought to have thrown 
a rug over you. Now, do you think you will 
be warm enough ? " 

Denn laughed aloud — he would have been 
puzzled to say why. In dire peril as he was, 
the grim humour of the speech was not lost 
upon him. Then he heard footsteps echoing 
over the bare floor, and the sullen bang of a 

A sudden change of mood came over 
Denn. He tugged at his bands until a 
chafed crimson outlined his wrists ; then he 
desisted, and burst into a fit of tears. Terrible 
tears they were — tears of blood, of anger, 
and not of fear. Denn wept out of sheer 
passionate impotence. Something warm 
lapped up the brine from his cheeks. The 
slobbering, caressing touch soothed Denn 
strangely, though he would have found it 
hard to say why. There was some comfort 
in the unexpected presence of his terrier, 
but under the circumstances a dog was not 
altogether an ally in the face of danger. 

" How did you get here, Prince ? " Denn 

The dog whined and quivered from head 
to foot. His canine intelligence told him 
that his master was in bad case. 

"You are a comfort, certainly," Denn 
went on, " the same as a chaplain might be 
to a convict on the morn of his execution. 
Your presence, Prince, may enable me to 
retain my senses — always a valuable posses- 
sion even to a man in extremes like myself. 
There is just a chance even for me. You 
are a clever dog, an exceedingly clever dog, 
Prince, but there are limits to your sagacity. 
If I could only make you understand the 
necessity of gnawing away these thongs of 
mine, all would be well. As it is, you can do 
nothing for me." 

Out of the tail of his eye Denn noticed 
the sullen red spark of the slow match 
creeping on towards the tub of paraffin. In 
the intense silence of the place he could hear 

by LiOOgle 

the splutter of saltpetre. Surely it must be 
more than an hour since Part's departure. 

The flame crept along like a snail. Denn 
watched it in a dazed, fascinated kind of 
w r ay. The slow monotony of it was getting 
on his nerves. He caught himself almost 
longing for the flash and the flare which 
sooner or later must come from the tub. 

Then another paroxysm of frenzy shook 
him to the soul. When the desire to struggle 
had passed away, Denn was dripping from 
head to foot. He smiled in bitter mockery 
of himself. Never had his senses been so 
preternaturally clear as they were at that 
present moment. 

Taking his master's struggles as part of a 
game, Prince had commenced to frisk 
around, barking loudly. Denn's endeavours 
had caused the hay-band to wriggle slightly, 
and upon this Prince pounced, shaking it as 
if it had been a rat. The acrid taste of the 
paraffin was not pleasing, but Prince went at 
it again quite angrily. 

"Good God!" Denn cried. "The one 
hope lies there ! " 

There was a fizz and a flash, and im- 
mediately the room was filled with a huge 
yellow flame. A dense black smoke rose 
to the ceiling; fatty, smutty flakes fell like 
black snow. The first tub of petroleum was 
on fire, and broke the silence with a sullen 

Denn grated his teeth together. He saw 
the end of the hay-band slide from the edge 
of the tub and lie on the floor. There was 
just a faint chance that it might not have 
caught the flame. 

But that hope was instantly dissipated. . A 
hissing blue flame came dancing along in 
Denn's direction. Just for a moment the 
whole universe reeled around him. The 
reaction threatened to swamp his senses. 

But only for a moment, and then his 
intense nervous energy returned to him. 
A buoyant and virile nature like Denn's is 
not easily crushed out. Hope, hope — there 
was always hope whilst life lasted. 

That he was about to be burnt, and badly 
burnt, Denn knew perfectly well. The shock 
might kill him. But though this poor human 
machinery of ours is easily thrown out of 
gear, it is surprising what humanity can 
endure and still draw the breath of life. 

Denn could not die ; he would not faint. 
The petroleum still blazed fiercely ; the blue 
popping flame from the corks rose and fell. 

The dense cloud of smoke" drifted round 
the room, eventually finding an outlet by 
means of a window or skylight rather high up 




in one corner. Part and his gang knew their 
business thoroughly, and fully appreciated 
draught as an aid to their endeavours. 

to try to loosen the light, damp knots with 
fingers like white bladders was impossible. 
" Done, after all," Denn groaned, " Tm 
as fast bound here 

as a convict fettered 

to the floor of his 

All this had been, 

more or less, the 

work of seconds. 

He saw now that 

the first tub of 

oil was burning 

and the 

lighted fluid was 



As the blazing point of flame struck his 
leg, Denn shivered. Near and round him 
went the blaze, scorching his clothing and 
leaving a huge white bladder spirally round 
his frame. 

The agony was intense : so keen, and in- 
cisive, that Denn was dripping from head to 
foot. Still he retained his senses. As the 
zone of fire rose to his waist he controlled 
himself by an almost superhuman effort to 
be still. Then he deliberately held his hands 
to the blaze* There was a smell of singed 
leather, and immediately the thongs that 
bound has wrists gave way. Only the fierce 
exultation in the knowledge that he had won 
something kept Denn going. 

When his hands were free Denn threw his 
arms apart. With his hands above his head 
he had no great difficulty in getting his 
shoulders free, 

Hope spurred him on like generous wine. 
He had only to rid himself of the green 
thongs that confined his ankles to the staples, 
and he would be free- Unfortunately, these 
bonds had not suffered from the flames. Try 
as he would, Denn could not rid himself of 
these. He had no knife in his pocket, and 

by Google 

flowing over the hard oak floor On the 
other side the hay- band was carrying a red 
cone of fire towards the staircase* 

As it progressed, Prince followed, barking 
furiously. A sudden idea occurred to Denn *. 
there was just a chance yet. 

M Worry, worry," he cried. " Rats, ratsj 
pull him down, Prince ! " 

The dog barked more furiously than ever. 
He grasped the hay- band some way beyond 
the point of flame, and began to tug 
vigorously. Prince had evidently made up 
his mind not to be defeated. His sharp teeth 
mumbled and worried at the rope: there 
came a sound of something tearing, and 
then — the band parted ! 

A terrible, hoarse cry came from Denn's 
throat Prince set up and howled, Denn 
called the dog to him and kissed the shaggy 

" My lad," he said, hoarsely, " I guess 
you've about saved my life* You shall have 
a gold collar set in diamonds and jewelled in 
sixteen holes. What nonsense I am tajking ! 
At any rate, there will be no fire now, since 
you have cut off the communication. Yonder 
flowing petroleum won't do much harm upon 

Original from 




the hard oak floor. If you could only worry 
the thongs off my ankles for me- tr 

Denn said no more, The floor seemed to 
rise miles upwards and then fall again, shooting 
the hapless man down into bottomless span . 
Ten millions of stars danced before his eyes ; 
there was a roar like the sea in his ears. 

The reaction had come, and Denn had 
fainted. Prince sat there still and silent, his 
black nose quivering. The small body of 
the terrier absolutely bristled with excitement 
and expectation* 

When Denn came to himself it seemed to 
him vaguely as if several years had elapsed 
since he had slipped from consciousness* 
He passed his hand over his chin to feel for 
his beard, as Rip Van Winkle might. But 
no beard was there, and no flame was in the 
room either. The " Fire Bugs " had made a 
miscalculation so far as the ground floor was 
concerned, for the paraffin in the tub had 
hurnt away with no greater effect than a deep 
excoriation of the stout oaken boards. A 
smell of burnt wood came pungently to 
Demi's nostrils, but the air was clear of 
smoke and the danger past. 

The pain Denn suffered from his wounds 
was something dreadful But nothing could 
crush down the fierce exultation at his heart, 
the knowledge that by sheer grit and fortunate 
chance he had baffled his enemies. 

Still, Denn was not out of the wood yet* 
The thongs about his ankles still held him 
prisoner to the staple. Had his hands been 
less swollen and blistered he might have 
freed himself, but with all his pluck he could 
grasp nothing whatever, so far as his left hand 
was concerned. The right was not so badly 

" It's very disheartening/' Denn muttered. 
" Those fellows are not far off, and 
tre long one or more of them are 
certain to turn up and investigate 
into the postponement of the fire- 
works. Then where shall I be ? " 

All the same, Denn did not relax 
his efforts. An hour passed with no 
very definite results, and then a 
draught of air proclaimed the fact 
that the front door had been 
cautiously opened. 

Prince sat up quivering, his ears 
a-cock t and his teeth displayed in a 

Denn cuffed him gently. 

" Down/ 1 he whispered, " down, 
sir. Not a sound/' 

Prince crouched obediently, Denn 

Digitized by Google 

lay sideways as if dead, A figure crept in, 
making no noise, in his india-rubber slippers. 
He approached Denn and stood over him* 
The latter never moved. 

" He's done for," Part, for he it was, 
chuckled grimly, " The charred remains 
of the unfortunate proprietor were found rnit 
der ruins ! That is what the papers will say. 
No suspicion after that, I suppose that hay- 
band must have parted in some way. A 
match will put that all right. Good-bye, Mr. 
Drenton Denn." 

And Part spurned the prostrate figure with 
his foot. A fraction of a second later, and a 
yell of agony rang through the house. The 
hidden vein of ferocity lying dormant in 
every man rose in Denn at this moment. 
There was just one tiny chance of safety, 
and Denn grasped it Like lightnings he 
grabbed Part by the feet and buried his 
teeth like a dog in the ruffian's tendon 

With his other foot Part lashed out 
savagely, Denn caught him by the instep 
and brought him crashing to the ground. 
Not for an instant did the tension of those 
jaws relax on Part's heel, 

" Mein Gott, what agony I * Part screamed. 

"And it's going to be agony," Denn mum- 
bled, *' until you cut the strip that binds my 
ankles. I've got you at a disadvantage now, 


Original frorrv 



you hound, and I mean to keep it. - Out 
with your knife and do as I tell you." 

Trembling with anguish in every limb, 
Part drew a knife from his pocket. As he 
was fumbling with the green hide, Denn 
dexterously managed to extract Part's re- 
volver from his hip-pocket. 

Denn's limbs were free at last. Stiff and 
sore as he was he managed to regain his feet, 
only to see Part rushing upon him knife in 
hand. But he was instantly covered with 
his own revolver. 

" Stand back or I fire," Denn cried. " It's 
my turn now, my friend. You have some 
matches in your pocket, -of course. On the 
window-ledge you will find some candles. 
Light one." 

Part sullenly obeyed. There was some- 
thing crisp and metallic in Denn's voice that 
precluded any debate upon the point. If 
Part had only known how sick, and dazed, 
and dizzy Denn was feeling, his discomfiture 
might have been less. As it was, the ruffian 
was completely cowed. 

" Now take a scrap of paper and a pencil. 
There's one on the table. Of course, the 
other ruffians are awaiting your return in the 
den of the Bowery. Now write what I tell 
you. Say : * Something wrong at Nicholas 
Mayer's. Come to me all of you as soon as 
you get this ! ' By heavens, if you don't do 
as you are told 111 let daylight into you." 
Part obeyed, sullenly. The letter was folded 
and addressed to his second in command. 
Denn opened a window looking on a side 
street, and hailed the first likely-looking 
gutter-snipe that passed. 

" Do you want to earn a dollar ? " he 

The arab raised no particular objection, 
and was sent on his errand. He was simply 
to deliver the note, and nothing more. A 
police-officer lounging down the street looked 
at Denn suspiciously. 

" Anything wrong here ? " he demanded. 

"You've got it first time," Denn responded. 
" There's something so wrong here that all 
America will be ringing with it in a day or 
two. Go on to Patrick Road police-station 

and send four of your best men here. And 
for the love of Heaven, lose no time about it" 

Ten minutes later four stalwart men were 
gathered round about Denn and his dis- 
comfited companion, listening to the former's 

Denn fainted twice during the recital, but 
he minded that not in the least now. All 
the same, he had been terribly afraid of this 
sickness during the time that he had found 
himself alone with Part. 

Hardly was the recital finished when Part's 
satellites came bursting into the house, eager 
to know w r hat was wrong. Before they could 
realize the nature of the cruel trap laid for 
them the whole gang were secured. The 
chief officer would have grasped Denn 
eagerly by the hand. 

" No, thanks," the latter said, hastily. " I'm 
not feeling quite up to social amenities of 
that kind. You have your men and you 
have your evidence, and when you find that 
insurance policy, your case will be complete. 
And you now have the satisfaction of ridding 
New York of perhaps the cleverest gang of 
pestiferous scoundrels that ever disgraced 
civilization. God knows how many innocent 
lives have been sacrificed to satisfy their 

"And meanwhile, Mr. Denn," said the 
inspector, " you " 

" Will go straight to Barnabas Hospital," 
Denn said, promptly. "I want a strong 
tonic to pull me together, and a smart type- 
writer will do the rest. Once the Post is in 
possession of all these facts, I shall take a 
rest. And I want you to know that I need 

The Post had it all the next morning, 
thanks to Denn's pluck and determination. 
At what time New York was thrilling over 
these revelations, Denn, with head shaven 
and temperature up to 103, tossed on his 
hospital bed babbling of strange things. The 
" special " was there all the same. And as 
to the subsequent career of the " Fire 
Bugs," are they not written in the annals 
of the New York police, so that he who wills 
may read ? 

by Google 

Original from 

f^v*u a J 

[ PAtffriffTOFA, 

To the Poles by Ice- Breaking Steamer, 

An Interview with Vice-Admiral Makaroff, 
By Herbert C Fyfe, 

N rny opinion, the best way 
to penetrate into the Arctic 
and Antarctic regions is by 
means of a powerful ice- 
breaker/' These words were 
spoken to the present writer 
some few weeks ago by Vice - Admiral 
Makaroff, of the Imperial Russian Navy, 
the designer of the ice - breaking steamer 
Ermack, a vessel which may well claim to 
be the strongest ship in the world. 

It was in his room at the (Irosvenor Hotel, 
London, that Admiral Makaroff was so good as 
to receive me, to tell me all about his trip to 
Polar waters, and to show me the wonderful 
series of photos, he took during the cruise 
of the Er snack at work in the ice-fields. 
There have been, of course, ice-breakers 
before the Ermack^ and some of them have 
done good service in keeping water-ways 
clear of ice so that vessels may enter and 
leave northern ports, but none have ever 
achieved such wonders as has this sturdy ship. 
The Ermack was designed especially for 
ice-breaking in the Baltic and Kara seas, for 
the purpose of keeping open the northern 
ports of Russia either during the whole 
winter or for a longer period than they would 
otherwise be navigable, and the idea of 
exploring the Polar regions only occurred to 
Admiral Makaroff after he discovered what the 
vessel was capable of. It was in the month 
of July, 1899, that the Ermack made her first 
Polar trip. 

YoJ- *i*.— &, 

by Google 

" Our voyage," said the Admiral, " differed 
from those of former explorers, in that we 
experienced no sufferings or privations, and 
were never in danger.' 1 

The Ermack was brought back to New- 
castle-on-Tyne in August, During the five 
weeks she was away she travelled through 
230 miles of Polar ice, 

"Nobody before us,' 3 said the Admiral, 
"had ever tried the Polar Sea for ice-breaking, 
and our going was the first time man had 
taken offensive action against Polar ice. 
Though many scientists said the thing could 
not be done, we did it. Starting from Spitz- 
bergen we found ice in lat, 8odeg, 15mm., 
and strong Polar ice it was too. The plain 
ice was 14ft. thick, and the pack ice (i.t. t in 
mountainous ridges) was sometimes as much 
as iSft. high and seven fathoms {42ft.) deep. 
We found the Ermack could break this ice, 
and she proceeded very well through it. It 
was wonderful to see the easy way in which 
it broke in some places when the Ermack 
charged into it Sometimes it would happen 
that we struck the weakest part perhaps 
a place which had become hollowed out 
beneath. Yet at other times huge blocks 
would stick to the vessel, cover her bow, and 
bend up underneath her ; charge into other 
pieces with us, and break them without 
leaving us, and in that event we had to steam 
backwards and get rid of it. 

"The summer is the best time for negotiat- 
ing the iceC^c^W&l^f-SSW Ocean, for then, 




although the sea is full of ice, it is ice in the 
shape of inlands divided by the canals, which 
are mostly filled with broken ice- During 
the progress of the Ermack floes of ice over 
a mile long moved away and gave passage to 
her In charging ' hummock ' or ' pack ' ice 
the bow of the Ermack rises up 8ft. or so ; 
the field cracks, and the ship then falls down 
and goes ahead, moving both sides of the 
debris hi the icefield. It is most exciting to 
see some of the big pieces of ice fall down 
into the water and the others coming to the 
surface from the great depths, every detached 

but with a chatige of weather and current 
the ice-islands become separated from each 
other, so as to render a passage possible. It 
is not necessary when going with the ice- 
breaker into the Polar region to keep a 
straight course and cut the ice ; the ship 
goes in a zig-zag 'line/ shaping her course 
between the ice-floes. In some cases it was 
necessary to apply the full power, but in 
other places the ship proceeded easily. 
Before I went I spoke on this subject with 
Captain Sverdrup, of the Fram y and Dr. 
Nansen. Captain Sverdrup is entirely of my 

JTuiN n] 


\fh.riiyt\i t >ft 

piece trying to find a new position, while the 
ice-breaker herself, always being pushed along 
gradually, rises, cracks the ice, and falls again. 
Our usual rate of speed was 3^ knots an 
hour in Polar regions. 

"The islands of the Polar Sea are of 
different sizes, some being as much as five 
miles in diameter : the others are smaller, 
and the great majority of them do not exceed 
hundreds of feet. Sometimes these islands 
are pressed against each other, and there are 
days during which it is difficult to proceed, 

opinion, but Dr, Nansen did not wish to 
express his views. He only said that he 
wished me success* and he would be the first 
to congratulate me upon it* 

The Gulf of Finland, in the Baltic Sea, is 
covered with ice during the whole winter, and 
consequently the navigation and transport of 
cargo to such an important commercial port 
as St. Petersburg is interrupted for five 
months in the year. In a severe winter ice 
may be found at a distance of 200 miles from 
Sl Petersburg iFfed fteifflf the Finnish Gulf 




is very strong, because the water of the Baltic 
has very little salt In it* The thickness of 
plain ice does not exceed 2ft. in deep places 
and 3ft. in shallow water, but the winds break 
the ice and pile it up, and large fields of 
packed ice 12ft, deep may often be found. 

It was to clear a passage through the Baltic 
ice-fields that the first ice-breaker was built in 
* 1864, by Sir W, G. Armstrong, Whit worth, 
and Co. T from the designs of a Russian 
merchant, Britneff, His idea was to take one 
of his steam tugs and cut the fore part into 
such a shape that it would run on the top of the 
ice and break it with its own weight. Since 
then this firm has built several ice-breakers 
for the River Volga, the Port of Hango, and 
the Lake of Baikal ; but the Ermack is the 
finest thing in this line that they have yet 

The quadruple screw -steamer Ermtuk^ 
constructed at Walker-on-Tyne, can lay 
claim to be the heaviest and strongest 
steamer yet constructed. She is 305ft, lung, 
71ft. wide, and 42 ft. 6in, deep. With 3,000 
tons of coal on board, her displacement is 
S,ooo tons. The hull has been designed to 

resist the crushing effect of ice. At the 
stern are three screws, one being on the 
centre line as in ordinary single-screw vessels, 
and the other two as in the usual twin-screw- 
arrangement, forward there is a fourth 
screw, and this is driven by a shaft projecting 
through the sloping stem forward. This 
buw screw is not meant for accentuating the 
speed of the vessel— for all ship-builders are 
convinced of the inefficiency of this method 
of propulsion— but simply to enable the 
ship to clear her way and keep lumps of ice 
from accumulating under her bottom. When 
the bow screw is working in the ahead direc- 
tion, the " race " of water that is caused 
thereby washes the bottom of the vessel and 
clears the ice out of the way ; when it is 
reversed— i.e., 111 the go astern direction — 
the "race" is projected forward, and lumps 
of ice may thus be washed out from under- 
neath the field-ice, where they are apt to 
congregate and cause trouble. All the 
screws have been designed to work against 
solid ice without damage, 

'I he hull of the Efmack is extensively 
sub-divided into water-tight compartments, of 





©figtnal from 






-_- : 

/■'iiom iij 


I Plwtafrrtipk, 

which there are forty-eight in all. Each ot 
these was tested while the vessel was on the 
stocks by filling it full, over ifi ? ooo tons of 
water being used in all. Such is the form 
of the ship, and such the strength of the 
structure, that the effect of the ice dosing in 
all round the vessel would simply be to 
raise it. The ice-belt extends 20ft, on each 
side round the girth of the hull, and rum 
from bow to stern. 

As is natural with a ship intended for such 
hard work as is the Ermack^ there is a great 
deal of machinery. This is, however, all 
placed so low that there is ample accom- 
modation, not only for the crew, but also for 
a good deal of cargo and even passengers. 
There are four main propelling engines and 
four smaller propelling engines, or eight sets 
of engines in all, and there are six double- 
ended boilers. During her trials in the North 
Sea the Erwach readied a speed of nearly 
15^ knots with 8, 000 h.-p. The whole of 
the propelling machinery is designed with 
such ample margin of strength that when 
the engines are brought up suddenly by 
ice getting in the propellers no harm 

opellers no harm 


is done either to engines or to screws. 
The shafting and all working parts have 
factors of safety from 35 to 60 per cent, 
above the requirements of Lloyds and the 
Board of Trade. The propeller blades are 
extremely massive, and are made of nickel 
steel of great strength. 

On her first voyage, a few months ago, the 
Br mack behaved in a most satisfactory 
manner. Her designer, Vico-Admiral Maka- 
roff, and Mr, Arthur Gulston, of Newcastle- 
on-Tyne, were on board, and from their 
reports it appears that the Erihack first met 
the ice in the Baltic. It was drift ice, 
apparently about 5m. thick, and there seems 
not to have been the slightest difficulty in 
getting the vessel through the obstruction, as 
she went comparatively easily at nine knots. 
The worst piece of Ice, we read 3 which was 
encountered was 25m. thick, and the ship 
went nearly through this mass of obstruction 
before she was brought up by it. The worst 
field-ice that the Ermack had to deal with 
was apparently 4ft. thick, with snow on the 
top of it* Snow proved to be the greatest 
impediment ©rifcjjfiafcfrelffieaker's progress, 




and this bore out the designer's expecta- 

Mr. Gulston says that i2in. of snow on the 
top of thick field ice is a serious impediment, 
and that i8in, almost blocks her. The ice 
generally in the Baltic appears to have been 
much more serious in the winter of 1898 than 
was expected, and it is said to be beyond 1883, 
which was a record winter. The Ermack did 
not run continuously, but rested at night and 
started early in the morning, working with 
the search-light. There was no difficulty in 
starting her, although she had become fast 

she can be given some movement, and can 
thus be worked loose by her own propellers 
and by ice-anchors," 

From all accounts the arrival of the Ermack 
at Cronstadt must have been an extraordinary 
sight. The Russian newspapers were filled 
with enthusiastic descriptions of the vessel's 
majestic entry into the port. The ice was 
about 1 Sin, thick, with a good deal of snow 
on the top, but the Ermack steamed through 
this at 6% knots up to the sea-wall and past 
the battleships. u She swung round on the 
Dort hand and entered the harbour through 


\ Fhfftoffmph, 

in the ice. The ice-anchors were put out, 
and the vessel was warped backwards from 
her berth, after which she started apparently 
without any difficulty. In his report Mr. 
Gulston remarks : — 

u She can be steered in any way, at any 
time, in any ice. This has never been the 
case with any ice-breakers that have previ- 
ously been built, and is no dj^ubt largely due 
to the form of the ship. There is no flat 
place in her side either vertically or horizon- 
tally, so that unless absolutely frozen in solid 

an entrance only 95ft. wide (the ship is 71ft, 
beam). She swung once in the inside 
harbour, and one charge astern put her into 
her berth alongside the coal store. Some 
manoeuvring trials were made in ice of about 
2ft, to 3ft in thickness, when the turning 
circle was found to be about 6ooft., and there 
was apparently very little difference in which 
direction the ship was turned. The effect 
of the bow propeller was most marked, and 
it appeared that if this stopped the ship 
stopped toQriginalf ran 






Whilst in the harbour of Cronstadt the 
Ermack was visited daily by targe numbers 
of people, and Admiral Makaroff, who 

initiated the employ- ^^_^_. 

ment of ice-breakers \ , 
in Russian and 
Siberian waters, was 
the recipient, of 
numerous letters 
and telegrams of 
congratulation, not 
only from public 
institutions, but also 
from the Czar and 
various officials. 

After a few days 
at Cronstadt the 
Ermack left for 
Revel, n e ar which 
twelve steamers 
were blocked by ice 
to the danger of 
their crews. When 
the ice-breaker 
arrived the ice was 
found to be 20ft. 

thick, but the Ermack steamed merrily 
through the mass and released nine frozen-in 
steamers. These she convoyed out to sea, 



ru i 


1 1 holographs 



stronger than any other vessel 
that has ever been built before, 
and marks the commencement 
of a new era in this branch of 

From Revel the Ermack pro- 
ceeded to St Petersburg, where 
her appearance and doings on 
the ice-bound Neva created an 
immense sensation. She was 
received by a deputation, with 
the mayor at its head, and a 
grand entertainment was 
organized at the City Hall in 
honour of Admiral Makaroff 
and the officers of the ice- 
breaker. In May the Ermack 
left for the Kara Sea, where 
Admiral Makaroff intends to 
employ her in order to establish 
quicker communications than 
at present exist between the 

rui op THE " HOGG. 

Fntm pluAoi Mm fl HI Ifcf ,f> 1 1 ,.,r" (fa - /-. . ....... .-)■ 

and then proceeded to tow 
into port other vessels which 
were lying outside, and not 
daring to enter for fear of 
being frozen in. Needless to 
say, the rescued vessels were 
intensely grateful to the Er- 
mack for the services she had 
rendered. It may be men- 
tioned that one of the ships 
which the Ermack freed was 
an ice-breaker herself. The 
Ermack, however, is far 


FunnaJ water. IPtotovr*} 



Kara Sea and the mouths of 
the Siberian rivers. 

The successful trials of the 
Ermack seem likely to indi- 
cate that the entire condition 
of navigation to ice-bound 
ports, and the course of trade 
with such countries as have 
hitherto been considered 
closed by sea in winter, will 
•Si i qrWa I fr^utionized Arch- 


4 o 


>m>pk aj 


I Photograph. 

angel, Cronstadt, Odessa, Vladivostock, Revel, 
etc., will now be "open ports " in more senses 
than one, and the benefit to commerce and 
shipping which must result from Admiral 
MakarofiPs vessel bids fair to have far-reaching 
results in the immediate future. During her 
short winter's work, the Ermack liberated 
eighty vessels, each of which would, but for 
her assistance, have been embedded in the 
ice for another fortnight, while during her 
working in the Baltic Sea, in May last, she 
was successful in rescuing from danger nearly 
one hundred steamers. These vessels she 
through the 
ice to the 
[Kirts of Cron- 
s t a d t and 
Revel On the 
4th May word 
was received 
by Vice -Ad- 
miral Maka- 
roff on the 
Ermack that 
the steamer 
J*ri£g was in 
danger near 
They at once 
proceeded to 
endeavour to 
render her 

assistance. Unfortunately, by 
the time they arrived, the 
steamer had been severely 
nipped by the ice 3 causing her 
to founder* We are enabled 
to present our readers with 
a unique setrof photographs 
showing the sinking of this 
steamer. These interesting 
photographs, for which we 
are indebted to Mr. William 
Bourn, of Walker- on -Tyne, 
were taken from the deck of 
the Ermack. We have also 
to acknowledge the courtesy 
of Captain Vassiliev, of the 
Ermack) for permission to 
reproduce them. 

Arrangements have been 
made by Admiral Makaroff 
for coupling up the Ermack with other 
vessels in order to malve a train of ships 
for more effectually dealing with thick 
ice* Although the Ermack is the strongest 
ship afloat, there is a limit to her capacity 
of breaking up ice, and a vessel pushing 
astern of her would supply additional power 
for the work. Into the counter of the 
ship a recess has been built, and this is 
designed to take the stem of the following 
vessel, arrangements being made for lashing 
the latter in firm contact with the leading craft, 
There seems to be little doubt that with two 

Ermacks fas- 
tened together 
the North 
Pole could 
he reached. 
Whether this 
will ever be 
remains to 
be seen ; but 
at any rate 
the feat has 
been brought 
far nearer by 
the advent of 
t h e s e i e e - 
steamers than 
it has ever 
been before. 

/"iT.'irb a] 


L fAk-hym/*- 

by Google 

Original from 

The Crime of the Brigadier. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

N all the great hosts of France 
there was only one officer 
towards whom the English of 
Wellington's Army retained a 
deep, steady, and unchange- 
able hatred. There were 
plunderers among the French, and men of 
violence, gamblers, duellists, and rou£s. All 
these could be forgiven, for others of their 
kidney were to be found among the ranks of 
the English. But one officer of Massena's 
force had committed a crime which was 
unspeakable, unheard of, abominable ; only 
to be alluded to with curses late in the 
evening, when a second bottle had loosened 
the tongues of men. The news of it was 
carried back to England, and country gentle- 
men who knew little of the details of the 
war grew crimson with passion when they 
heard of it, and yeomen of the shires raised 
freckled fists to Heaven and swore. And yet 
who should be the doer of this dreadful deed 
but our friend the Brigadier, Etienne Gerard, 
of the Hussars of Conflans, gay-riding, plume- 
tossing, debonnaire, the darling of the ladies 
and of the six brigades of light cavalry. 

But the strange part of it is that this gallant 
gentleman did this hateful thing, and made 
himself the most unpopular man in the 
Peninsula, without ever knowing that he 
had done a crime for which there is hardly 
a name amid all the- resources of our 
language. He died of old age, and never once 
in that imperturbable self-confidence which 
adorned or disfigured his character knew that 
so many thousand Englishmen would gladly 
have hanged him with their own hands. 
On the contrary, he numbered this adventure 
among those other exploits which he has 
given to the world, and many a time he 
chuckled and hugged himself as he narrated 
it to the eager circle who gathered round him 
in that humble cafe where, between his dinner 
and his dominoes, he would tell, amid tears 
and laughter, of that inconceivable Napoleonic 
past when France, like an angel of wrath, 
rose up, splendid and terrible, before a 
cowering continent. Let us listen to him as 
he tells the story in his own way and from 
his own point of view. 

You must know, my friends, said he, that 

VoL xix.-6. 

it was towards the end of the year eighteen 
hundred and ten that I and Massena and the 
others pushed Wellington backwards until we 
had hoped to drive him and his army into the 
Tagus. But when we were still twenty-five 
miles from Lisbon we found that we were 
betrayed, for what had this Englishman done 
but build an enormous line of works and forts 
at a place called Torres Vedras, so that even 
we were unable to get- through them ! They 
lay across the whole Peninsula, and our army 
was so far from home that we did not dare to 
risk a reverse, and we had already learned at 
Busaco that it was no child's play to fight 
against these people. What could we do then 
but sit down in front of these lines and block- 
ade them to the best of our power ? There 
we remained for six months, amid such 
anxieties that Massena said afterwards that 
he had not one hair which was not white 
upon his body. For my own part, I did not 
worry much about our situation, but I looked 
after our horses, whb were in much need of 
rest and green fodder. For the rest, we 
drank the wine of the country and passed the 
time as best we might. There was a lady at 
Santarem — but my lips are sealed. It is the 
part of a gallant man to say nothing, though 
he may indicate that he could say a great 

One day Massena sent for me, and I found 
him in his tent with a great plan pinned 
upon the table. He looked at me in silence 
with that single piercing eye of his, and I felt 
by his expression that the matter was serious. 
He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bear- 
ing seemed to reassure him. It is good to 
be in contact with brave men. 

" Colonel Etienne Gerard," said he, " I 
have always heard that you are a very gallant 
and enterprising officer." 

It was not for me to confirm such a report, 
and yet it would be folly to deny it, so I 
clinked my spurs together and saluted. 

" You are also an excellent rider." 

I admitted it. 

"And the best swordsman in the six 
brigades of light cavalry." 

Massena was famous for the accuracy of 
his information. 

" Now," said he, " if you will look at this 
I have no 

plan you will 


difficulty in under- 




standing what it is that I wish you to do. 
These are the lines of Torres Yedras. You 
will perceive that they cover a vast space, 
and you will realize that the English can 
only hold a position here and there, Once 
through the lines you have twenty-five miles 
of open country which lie between them 
and Lisbon. It is very important to me to 
learn how Wellington's troops are distributed 
throughout that space, and it is my wish 
that you should go and ascertain," 

His words turned me cold 

" Sir," said I, " it is impossible that a 
colonel of light cavalry should condescend 
to act as a spy." 

He laughed and clapped me on the 

" You would not be a Hussar if you were 
not a hot-head," said he, " If you will listen 
you will understand that 1 have not asked 
you to act as a spy. What do you think of 
that horse ? " 

He had conducted me to the opening of 
his tent, and there was a Chasseur who led 
up and down a most admirable creature. He 
was a dapple grey, not very tall, a little over 
fifteen hands perhaps, but with the short 
head and spkndid arch of the neck which 

comes with the Arab 
blood. His shoulders and 
haunches were so mus- 
cular, and yet his legs so 
fine, that it thrilled me 
with joy just to gaze upon 
him, A fine horse or a 
beautiful woman, I cannot 
look at them unmoved, 
even now when seventy 
winters have chilled my 
blood. You can think 
how it was in the year *io. 
"This," said Masse na. 
(t is Vokigeur, the swiftest 
horse in our army. What 
I desire is that you 
should start to-night, ride 
round the lines upon the 
flank, make your way 
across the enemy's rear, 
and return upon the other 
flank bringing me news of 
his dispositions* You will 
wear a uniform, and wilL 
therefore, if captured, be 
safe from the death of a 
spy. It is probable that 
you will get through the 
lines unchallenged, for the 
posts are very scattered. 
Once through, in daylight you can outride 
anything which you meet, and if you keep 
off the roads you may escape entirely un- 
noticed If you have not reported your- 
self by to- morrow night, I will understand 
that you are taken, and I will offer them 
Colonel Petrie in exchange." 

Ah, how my heart swell qfj with pride and 
joy as I sprang into the saddle and galloped 
this grand horse up and down to show the 
Marshal the master)' which I had of him ! 
He was magnificent — we were both magnifi- 
cent, for Massena clapped his hands and 
cried out in his delight. It was not I, but 
he, who said that a gallant beast deserves a 
gallant rider. Then, when for the third time, 
with my panache flying and my dolman 
streaming behind me, I thundered past him, 
I saw upon his hard old face that he had no 
longer any doubt that he had chosen the 
man for his purpose. I drew my sabre, 
raised the hilt to my lips in salute., and 
galloped on to my own quarters. Already 
the news had spread that I had been 
chosen for a mission, and my little 
rascals came swarming out of their tents to 
cheer me. j\Ji I it Jbrings the tears to my 
old eyes wWBSIIIfflrffi^Sw proud they were 






of their Colonel. And I was proud of them 
also. They deserved a dashing leader. 

The night promised to be a stormy one, 
which was very much to my liking. It was 
my desire to keep my departure most secret, 
for it was evident that if the English heard 
that I had been detached from the army 
they would naturally conclude that something 
important was about to happen. My horse 
was taken, therefore, beyond the picket 
line , as if for watering, and 1 followed and 
mounted him there. I had a map, a 
compass, and a paper of instructions from 
the Marshal, and with these in the bosom of 
my tunic and my sabre at my side I set out 
upon my adventure. 

A thin rain was falling and there was no 
moon, so you may imagine that it was 
not very cheerful But my heart was 
light at the thought of the honour which had 
been done me and the glory which awaited 
me. This exploit should be one more in 
that brilliant series which was to change 




my sabre into a baton. Ah, how we 
dreamed, we foolish fellows, young, and 
drunk with success ! Could I have foreseen 
that night as I rode, the chosen man of sixty 
thousand, that I should spend my life 
planting cabbages on a hundred francs a 
month ! Oh, my youth, my hopes, my com- 
rades ! But the wheel turns and never stops* 
Forgive me, my friends, for an old man has 
his weakness. 

My route, then, lay across the face of the 
high ground of "lor res Vedras, then over a 
streamlet, past a farmhouse which had been 
burned down and was now only a landmark, 
then through a forest of young cork oaks, 
and so to the monastery of San Antonio, 
which marked the left of the English position, 
Here I turned south and rode quietly over 
the downs, for it was at this point that 
Massena thought that it would be most easy 
for me to find my way unobserved through 
the position, I went very slowly, for it was 
so dark that I could not see my hand in 
front of me. In such cases I leave my 
bridle loose and let my horse pick its own 
way. Voltigeur went con- 
fidently forward, and I was 
very content to sit upon 
his back and to peer about 
me, avoiding every light. 
For three hours w T e ad- 
vanced in this cautious 
way, until it seemed to me 
that I must have lef* all 
danger behind me. I then 
pushed on more briskly, 
for I wished to be in the 
rear of the whole army 
by daybreak. There are 
many vineyards in these 
parts which in winter be- 
come open plains, and a 
horseman finds few diffi- 
culties in his way, 

But Massena had under- 
rated the cunning of these 
English, for it appears that 
there was not one line of 
defence but three, and it 
was the third, which was 
the most formidable, 
through which I was at 
that instant passing. As 
I rode, elated at my own 
success, a lantern flashed 
suddenly before me, and I 
saw the glint of polished 
gun-barrels and the gleam 





11 Who goes there?" cried a voice-- such 
a voice ! I swerved to the right and rode 
like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire 
came out of the darkness, and the bullets 
whizzed all round my ears. That was no 


new sound to nu , my friends, though 1 will 
not talk like a foolish conscript and say that 
I have ever liked it. But at least it had 
never kept me from thinking dearly, and so 
I knew that there was nothing for it but to 
gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere. I 
rode round the English picket, and then, as 
I heard nothing more of them, I concluded 
rightly that I had at last come through their 
defences. For five miles I rode south, 
striking a tinder from time to time to loot 
at my pocket compass, And then in an 
instant— I feel the pang once more as my 
memory brings back the moment — my horse, 

without a sob or stagger, fell stone dead 
beneath me ! 

I had never known it, but one of the 
bullets from that infernal picket had passed 
through his body. The gallant creature had 

never winced nor 
weakened, but 
had gone while 
life was in him. 
One instant I 
was secure on 
the swiftest, most 
graceful horse in 
Masse na ? s army. 
The next he lay 
upon his side, 
worth only the 
price of his hide, 
and I stood there 
that most help- 
less, most un- 
gainly of crea- 
tures, a dis- 
mounted Hussar. 
What could I do 
with my boots, 
my spurs, my 
trailing sabre ? I 
was far inside the 
enemy's lines. 
How could I 
hope to get back 
again ? I am not 
ashamed to say 
that I T Eticni 
Gerard, sat upon 
my dead horse 
and sank my face 
in my hands in 
my despair. 
Already the first 
streaks were 
whitening the 
east. In half an 
hour it would be 
light. That I should have won my way past 
ever)- obstacle and then at this last instant be 
left at the mercy of my enemies, my mission 
ruined, and myself a prisoner — was it not 
enough to break a soldiers heart ? 

But courage, my friends ! We have these 
moments of weakness, the bravest of us ; 
but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for 
the more you bend it the higher it springs. 
One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice 
and a heart of fire. All was not yet lost, I 
who had come through so many hazards would 
come through this one also. I rose from my 
horse and considered what had best be done, 




And first of all it was certain that I could 
not get back. Long before I could pass the 
lines it would be broad daylight. I must 
hide myself for the day, and then devote 
the next night to my escape. I took the 
saddle, holsters, and bridle from poor Volti- 
geur, and I concealed them among some 
bashes, so that no one. finding him could 
know that he was a French horse. Then, 
leaving him lying there, I wandered on in 
search of some place where I might be safe 
for the day. In every direction I could see 
camp fires upon the sides of the hills, and 
already figures had begun to move around 
them. I must hide quickly, or I was lost. 

But where was I to hide? It was a vine- 
yard in which I found myself, the poles of 
the vines still standing, but the plants gone. 
There was no cover there. Besides, I should 
want some food and water before another 
night had come. I hurried wildly onwards 
through the waning darkness, trusting that 
chance would be my friend. And I was 
not disappointed. Chance is a woman, my 
friends, and she has her eye always upon a 
gallant Hussar. 

Well, then, as I stumbled through the vine- 
yard, something loomed in front of me, and 
I came upon a great square house with 
another long, low building upon one side of 
it. Three roads met there, and it was easy 
to see that this was the posada, or wine shop. 
There was no light in the windows, and 
everything was dark and silent, but, of course, 
I knew that such comfortable, quarters were 
certainly occupied, and probably by some- 
pne of importance. I have learned, how- 
ever, that the nearer the danger may really 
be the safer place, and so I was by no means 
inclined to trust myself away from this shelter. 
The low building was evidently the stable, and 
into this I crept, for the door was unlatched. 
The place was full of bullocks and sheep, 
gathered there, no doubt, to be out of the 
clutches of marauders. A ladder led to a 
loft, and up this I climbed and concealed myself 
very snugly among some bales of hay upon the 
top. This loft had a small open window, and 
I was able to look down upon the front of 
the inn and also upon the road. There I 
crouched and waited to see what would 

It was soon evident that I had not been 
mistaken when I had thought that this might 
be the quarters of some person of importance. 
Shortly after daybreak an English light 
dragoon arrived with a despatch, and from 
then onwards the place was in a turmoil, 
officers continually riding up and away. 

Always the same name was upon their lips : 
" Sir Stapleton— Sir Stapleton." It was hard 
for me to lie there with a dry moustache and 
watch the great flagons which were brought 
out by the landlord to these English officers. 
But it amused me to look at their fresh- 
coloured, clean-shaven, careless faces, and to 
wonder what they would think if they knew 
that so celebrated a person was lying so 
near to them. And then, as I lay and 
watched, I saw a sight which filled me 
with surprise. 

It is incredible the insolence of these 
English ! What do you suppose Milord 
Wellington had done when he found that 
Massena had blockaded him and that he 
could not move his army ? I might give you 
many guesses. You might say that he had 
raged, that he had despaired, that he had 
brought his troops together and spoken to 
them about glory and the fatherland before 
leading them to one last battle. No, Milord 
did none of these things. But he sent a 
fleet ship to England to bring him a number 
of fox-dogs, and he with his officers settled 
himself down to chase' the fox. It is true 
what I tell you. Behind the lines of Torres 
Vedras these mad Englishmen made the fox 
chase three days in the week. We had heard 
of it in the camp, and now I was myself to 
see that it was true. 

For, along the road which I have described, 
there came these very dogs, thirty or forty of 
them, white and brown, each with its tail at 
the same angle, like the bayonets of the Old 
Guard. My faith, but it was a pretty sight ! 
And behind and amidst them there rode 
three men with peaked caps and red coats, 
whom I understood to be the hunters. After 
them came many horsemen with uniforms of 
various kinds, stringing along the roads in 
twos and threes, talking together and laugh- 
ing. They did not seem to be going above 
a trot, and it appeared to me that it must 
indeed be a slow fox which they hoped to 
catch. However, it was their affair, not mine, 
and soon they had all passed my window and 
were out of sight. I waited and I- watched, 
ready for any chance which might offer. 

Presently an officer, in a blue uniform not 
unlike that of our flying artillery, came 
cantering down the road— an elderly, stout 
man he was, with grey side-whiskers. He 
stopped and began to talk with an orderly 
officer of dragoons, who waited outside the 
inn, and it was then that I learned the 
advantage of the English which had been 
taught me. I could hear and understand 
all that was said 





" Where is the meet ? " said the officer, and 
I thought that he was hungering for his 
bifstek. But the other answered him that it 
was near Akara, so I saw that it was a place 
of which he spoke. 

" You are late, Sir George," said the 

11 Yes, I had a court - martial. Has Sir 
Stapleton Cotton gone ? n 


At this moment a window opened, and a 

handsome young man in a very splendid 
uniform looked out of it. 

"Halloa, Murray!" said he "These 
cursed papers keep me, but I will be at your 

** Very good, Cotton, I am late already, 
so I will ride on," 

**You might order my groom to bring 
round my horse," said the young General at 

the window to the orderly below, while the 
other went on down the road. 

The orderly rode away to some outlying 
stable, and then in a few minutes there came 
a smart English groom with a cockade in his 
hat, leading by the bridle a horse — and, oh, 
my friends, you have never known the per- 
fection to which a horse can attain until you 
have seen a first-class English hunter. He 
was superb: tall, broad, 
strong, and yet as 
graceful and agile as a 
deer. Coal black he 
was in colour, and his 
neck, and his shoulder, 
and his quarters, and 
his fetlocks— how can 
I describe him all to 
you? The sun shone 
upon him as on polished 
ebony, and he raised 
his hoofs in a liitle, 
playful dance so lightly 
and prettily, while he 
tossed his mane and 
whinnied with impa- 
tience. Never have I 
seen such a mixture of 
strength and beauty 
and grace. I had often 
wondered how the 
English Hussars had 
managed to ride over 
the Chasseurs of the 
Guards in the affair at 
Astorga, but I won- 
dered no longer when 
I saw the English 

There was a ring 
for fastening bridles at 
the door of the inn, 
and the groom tied the 
horse there while he 
entered the house. In 
an instant I had seen 
the chance which Fate 
had brought to me. 
Were I in that saddle 
I should be better off than when I started. 
Even Voltigeur could not compare with this 
magnificent creature. To think is to act 
with me. In one instant I was down the 
ladder and at the door of the stable. The 
next I was out and the bridle was in my 
hand. I bounded into the saddle. Some- 
body, the master or the man, shouted 
wildly behind me. What cared I for his 
shouts! iOuwNtfrqife horse with my 




spurs and he bounded forward with such 
a spring that only a rider like myself 
could have sat him. I gave him his head 
and let him go— it did not matter to me 
where, so long as we left this inn far behind 
us. He thundered away across the vineyards, 
and in a very few minutes I had placed miles 
between myself and my pursuers. They 
could no longer tell in that wild country in 
which direction I had gone. I knew that I 
was safe, and so, riding to the top of a small 
hill, I drew my pencil and notebook from my 
pocket and proceeded to make plans of those 
tamps which 1 could see and to draw the 
outline of the country. 

He was a dear creature upon whom I sat, 
but it was not easy to draw upon his back, 
for every now and then his two ears would 
cock, and he would start and quiver with 
impatience. At first I could not under- 
stand this trick of his, but soon I observed 
that he only did it when a peculiar noise — 
( * yoj% yoy, yoy * — came from somewhere 
among the oak woods beneath us. And then 
suddenly this strange 
cry changed into a 
most terrible scream- 
ing, with the frantic 
blowing of a horn. 
Instantly he went mad 
—this horse- His eyes 
blazed. His mane 
bristled. He bounded 
from the earth and 
bounded again, twist- 
ing and turning in a 
frenzy. My pencil flew 
one way and my note- 
book another And 
then, as I looked down 
into the valley, an ex- 
traordinary sight met 
my eyes. The hunt 
was streaming down it. 
The fox I could not 
see, but the dogs were 
in full cry, their noses 
down, their tails up, 
so close together that 
they might have been 
one great yellow and 
white moving carpet. 
And behind them rode 
the horsemen — my 
faith, what a sight ! 
Consider every type 
which a great army 
could show* Some in 
hunting dress, but the 

most in uniforms : blue dragoons, red 
dragoons, red- trousered hussars, green rifle- 
man, artillery men, gold-slashed lancers, and 
most of all red, red, red, for the infantry 
officers ride as hard as the cavalry. Such a 
crowd, some well mounted, some ill, but all 
flying along as best they might, the subaltern 
as good as the general, jostling and pushing, 
spurring and driving, with every thought 
thrown to the winds save that they should 
have the blood of this absurd fox ! Truly, 
they are an extraordinary people, the 
English ! 

But I hadlitde time to watch the hunt or 
to marvel at these islanders, for of all these 
mad creatures the very horse upon which I 
sat was the maddest. You understand that 
he was himself a hunter, and that the crying 
of these dogs was to him what the call of a 
cavalry trumpet in the street yonder would 
be to me. It thrilled him. It drove him 
wild Again and again he bounded into rhe 
air, and then, seizing the bit between his 
teeth, he plunged down the slope and 

oogle " 


4 8 


galloped after .the dogs. I swore, and 
tugged, and pulled, but I was powerless. 
This English General rode his horse with a 
snaffle only, and the beast had a mouth of 
iron. It was useless to pull him back. One 
might as well try to keep a Grenadier from a 
wine bottle. I gave it up in despair, and, 
settling down in the saddle, I prepared for 
the worst which could befall. 

What a creature he was ! Never have I 
felt such a horse between my knees. His 
great haunches gathered under him with 
every stride, and he shot forward ever faster 
and faster, stretched like a greyhound, while 
the wind beat in my face and whistled past 
my ears. I was wearing our undress jacket, 
a uniform simple and dark in itself — though 
some figures give distinction to any uniform 
— and I had taken the precaution to remove 
the long panache from my busby. The 
result was that, amidst the mixture of cos- 
tumes in the hunt, there was no reason why 
mine should attract attention, or why these 
men, whose thoughts were all with the chase, 
should give any heed to me. The idea that 
a French officer might be riding with them 
was too absurd to enter their minds. I 
laughed as I rode, for, indeed, amid all the 
danger, there was something of comic in the 

I have said that the hunters were very 
unequally mounted, and so at the end of 
a few miles, instead of being one body 
of men, like a charging regiment, they 
were scattered over a considerable space, 
the better riders well up to the dogs and 
the others trailing away behind. Now, I was 
as good a rider as any, and my horse was the 
best of them all, and so you can imagine 
that it was not long before he carried me to 
the front. And when I saw the dogs stream- 
ing over the open, and the red-coated hunts- 
man behind them, and only seven or eight 
horsemen between us, then it was that the 
strangest thing of all happened, for I, too, 
went mad — I, Etienne Gerard ! In a moment 
it came upon jne, this spirit of sport, this 
desire to excel, this hatred of the fox. 
Accursed animal, should he then defy us? 
Vile robber, his hour was come ! Ah, it is a 
great feeling, this feeling of sport, my friends, 
this desire to trample the fox under the 
hoofs of your horse. I have made the fox 
chase with the English. I have also, as I 
may tell you some day, fought the box-fight 
with the Bustler, of Bristol. And I say to 
you that this sport is a wonderful thing — full 
of interest as well as madness. 

The farther we went the faster galloped my 

horse, and soon there were but three men as 
near the dogs as I was. All thought of fear 
of discovery had vanished. . My brain throb- 
bed, my blood ran hot— only one thing upon 
earth seemed worth living for, and that was 
to overtake this infernal fox. I passed one 
of the horsemen — a Hussar like myself. 
There were only two in front of me now: the 
one in a black coat, the other the blue 
artilleryman whom I had seen at the inn. 
His grey whiskers streamed in the wind, but 
he rode magnificently. For a mile or more 
we kept in this order, and then, as we 
galloped up a steep slope, my lighter weight 
brought me to the front. I passed them 
both, and when I reached the crown I was 
riding level with the little, hard-faced English 
huntsman. In front of us were the dogs, 
and then, a hundred paces beyond them, 
was a brown wisp of a thing, the fox itself, 
stretched to the uttermost. The sight of 
him fired my blood. "Aha, we have you 
then, assassin ! " I cried, and shouted my 
encouragement to the huntsman. I % waved 
my hand to show him that there was one 
upon whom he could rely. 

And now there were only the dogs between 
me and my prey. These dogs, whose duty 
it is to point out the game, were now rather a 
hindrance than a help to us, for it was hard 
to know how to pass them. The huntsman 
felt the difficulty as much as I, for he rode 
behind them, and could make no progress 
towards the fox. He was a swift rider, but 
wanting in enterprise. For my part, I felt 
that it would .be uYiworthy of the Hussars of 
Conflans if I could not overcome such a 
difficulty as this. Was Etienne Gerard to be 
stopped by a herd of fox-dogs? It was 
absurd. I gave a shout and spurred my 

11 Hold hard, sir ! Hold hard ! " cried the 

He was uneasy for me, this good old man, 
but I reassured him by a wave and a smile. 
The dogs opened in front of me. One or 
two may have been hurt, but what would 
you have ? The egg must be broken for the 
omelette. I could hear the huntsman shout- 
ing his congratulations behind me. One 
more effort, and the dogs were all behind 
me. Only the fox was in front. 

Ah, the joy and pride of that moment ! 
To know that I had beaten the English at 
their own sport. Here were three hundred 
all thirsting for the life of this animal, and 
yet it was I who was about to take it. I 
thought of my comrades of the light cavalry 
brigade, of nrj mother, of the Emperor, of 




France, I had brought honour to each and 
all Every instant brought me nearer to the 
fox. The 'moment for action had arrived, so 
I unsheathed my sabre. I waved it in the air, 
and the brave English all shouted behind me. 
Only then did I understand how difficult 
is this fox chase, for one may cut again and 
again at the creature and never strike him 
once. He is small, and turns quickly from 
a blow* At ever>- cut I heard those shouts 
of encouragement from behind me, and they 
spurred me to yet another effort And then 
at last the supreme moment of my triumph 
arrived. In the very act of turning I caught 

of all 


him fair with such another back-handed cut 
as that with which I killed the aide-de-camp 
of the Emperor of Russia, He flew into 
two pieces 3 his head one way and his tail 
another. 1 looked back and waved the 
blood-stained sabre in the air, For the 
moment I was exalted — superb ! 


Vol- xbi- — 7* 

Ah ! how I should have loved to have 
waited to have received the congratulations 
of these generous enemies. There were fifty 
of them in sight, and not one who was not 
waving his hand and shouting. They are 
not really such a phlegmatic race, the 
English, A gallant deed in war or in 
sport will always warm their hearts. As to 
the old huntsman, he was the nearest to me, 
and 1 could see with my own eyes how over- 
come he was by what he had seen. He was 
like a man paralyzed, his mouth open, his 
hand, with outspread fingers, raised in the 
air. For a moment my inclination was to 

return and 
to embrace 
him. But 
already the 
call of duty 
was sound- 
ing in my 
ears, and 
these Eng- 
lish, in spite 
the fraternity 
exists among 
sportsmen, w T ould cer- 
tainly have made me 
prisoner. There was 
no hope for my mis- 
sion now, and I had done 
all that I could do. I could 
see the lines of Massena's 
camp no very great distance 
off, lor, by a lucky chance, 
lIh- rhase had taken us in 
thai direction. Iturnedfrom 
the dead fox, saluted with my 
sabre, and galloped away. 
But they would not leave me s« 
easily, these gallant huntsmen. I 
was tlie fox now, and the chase 
swept bravely over the 
plain. It was only at the 
nnnm-nt when I started for 
the ramp that they could 
have known that I was a 
Frenchman, and now the 
whole swarm of them were 
at my heels. We were within 
gunshot of our pickets be- 
fore they would halt, and 
then they stood in knots and would not go 
away, but shouted and waved their hands at 
me. No, I will not think that it was in 
enmity. Rather would I fancy that a glow of 
admiration filled their breasts, and that their 
one desire was to embrace the stranger who 
had carried himself so gallantly and well. 


Animal Actualities. 

N OTE. — 7j4*J£ articles consist of a series of perfectly authentic anecdotes of animal life, illustrated 
by Mr. J* A, Shepherd \ an artist hng a favourite with readers of The Stranh Magazine. While 
the stories themselves are matters of fact t it must he understood that the artist treats the subject 
with freedom arid fancy % more with a view to an amusing commentary than to a men representation 
of the occurrence. 





very well-known bird lover, has a 
cockatoo which once upon a time 
distinguished itself brilliantly in 
police duty, and repelled single- 
handed — if one may say so when the bird 

used both claws and a beak — the attack of a 
burglar ; more, the gallant bird arrested and 
kept prisoner as much of the criminal as he 
could manage to detain —that is to say, a 
good large piece of his car. 

" Cuckoo M was the cockatoo's name, and 

by Google 


Original from 




he lived, mostly, in Miss Hawthorn's bird- 
room— a sitting-room on the third floor, con- 
taining an aviary and several cages— all left 
wide open— certain perches, and many birds ; 
parrots, love-birds, and various others, as 
well as " Cuckoo " himself. 

It chanced on a gloomy November day, 
just before six at the beginning of a dark 
evening, that the enterprising housebreaker 

made his attack on Miss Hawthorn's house, 
choosing, such was his ill-luck, the bird-room 
as a convenient place wherein to start 
business. He came silently in at a window, 
when the house was quiet, and when the 
birds were all composing themselves for a 
pleasant sleep, Mrs. Midge, also, the bird- 
room cat, was taking her repose among 
the many birds, against not one of whom had 

by Google 


Original from 





she ever lifted the paw of anger. At the 
sound of the intruder, however, every head 
was raised, every eye was opened, and every 
feather stood on end. The next instant 
Mrs. Midge had sought refuge under the 
sofa, and every bird had crammed itself into 
what corner it could ; all except " Cuckoo/' 
who met the foe right stoutly, peeked and 
clawed, and buffi ted like twenty fiends incar- 
nate in one cockatoo. The burglar fought 
also, though it is something of a surprise for 

any burglar of quiet habits to find himself 
suddenly attacked in the dark by such an 
amazing Thing as was clawing at him 
now. But " Cuckoo " triumphed, and when 
the noise brought help he was found, 
exhausted and bloodstained, but victorious, 
til a disordered room, with the piece of 
burglarious ear already mentioned and several 
locks of grey hair as trophies of his hard- 
fought battle. And that is why they call 
'* Cuckoo " the Policeman* 

by Google 

Original from 

The Prose of Music. 

By J. F. Rowbotham, M.A. 

Author of " The History of Music." 


T is on record that a celebrated 
Italian musician once heard a 
criminal undergoing a severe 
castigation in the market-place 
at the hands of the executioner. 
The culprit, who was being 
beaten with what answers in Italy to our 
cat-o'-nine-tails, uttered such terrible shrieks 
and cries that the people who were standing 
round, filled with commiseration, were about 
to attempt a rescue. The great composer, 
however, who had been listening intently, 
put a stop to their intended good offices by 
remarking to the bystanders that all the 
criminal's cries were delivered by his head 
voice, not his chest; and therefore were 
artificial. "The man," said the great com- 
poser, "is undoubtedly shamming." So, 
indeed, it actually proved to be, for on 
examination there was discovered a thick 
buff jerkin between the man's coat and his 
back, which had effectually warded off all 
blows that had been aimed at him. So 
important is it to cultivate the habit of 
minute observation, and such an aid did 
music in this instance prove to the 
detection of a criminal. 

But there are a thousand such 
things around us in life, most in- 
teresting to observe, and most 
easy to notice, if the attention is 
once called to them. Not only does music 
monopolize the field of art and song, but, if 
we only consider the case, it extends its 
domain into every spoken and uttered sound. 
Its realm is commensurate with everything 
that affects the ear, although directly we 
leave the sphere of rhythm and melody we 
undoubtedly arrive at " The Prose of Music," 
and leave the poetry far behind. 

Many words in language are undoubtedly 
coined in order to express a musical repro- 
duction of the act they signify. Thus: 
"splash," "scrape," "crack," "crush" — 
what could be more graphic than these four 
words, what device could better express the (^>- . H ^ 
action of splashing and cracking? 

But all language, especially blank verse, 
can have its utterance recorded in musical 
notes. To take a line from Milton : — 

The whole of language, prose and poetry, 
can be musically expressed on such an 
analogy ; but while the majority of such lan- 
guage proves comparatively uninteresting, the 
tones of a great actor or the inflections of an 
eloquent orator offer a theme of fruitful 

The speaking voice of Mr. Irving will be 
found to range from 


about §§ 


He speaks on each and all the tones between 
these extremes, sometimes adhering to one 
note, as, for instance, the parting injunction 
in "Charles I.":— 



Re - mem 


At other times running 
the chromatic intervals 

the whole gamut of 
in one ejaculation, 

as : — 

Mr. Irving's style of utterance is, however, 
inclined to the monotone rather than to the 
chromatic; we have heard him say several 
lines, often, as under : — 





Tis not alone my in-ky cloak, good mother, 
nor cus-to-ma-ry suits of sol - emn black, 



nor win-dy sus-pi - ra - tion of forced breath. 

By contrast with this grave style of utter- 

gja sTj 

: » - ^P--:*** # i jar " 


These are Thy glorious works, 

Digitized by VjCw 

parent of good, 

Al- mighty! | ni^ftO l tWs universaI framc " 




ance Mr. Wilson Barrett's is exceedingly light 
and buoyant, travels through a greater range 
of notes, and makes more use of the high 
and melodious tones of the voice. A forcible 
illustration of this is his remarkable exclama- 
tion in "The Silver King" on the word 
" innocent." Mr. Irving would most probably 
have spoken this : — 





In - no - cent ! In - no • cent ! 

Mr. Wilson Barrett ejaculates : — 



In - no - cent ! In - no • cent ! In • no - cent ! 

We make use of the language of celebrated 
actors for our illustrations, because their 
words and utterances are familiar to 
thousands ; but students of oratory may 
form precisely the same observations by 
listening to their favourite speaker. All 
language, no matter of what kind, has its 
music. In ordinary conversation, when we 
greet a friend, we unconsciously utter the 
musical phrase : — 

ES pWp 

How are you? 

How do you do? 

The variations of this ordinary salutation 
are as numerous as the moods of feeling in 
which it is uttered. We are aware what a 
stiff turn can be given to these common 
words by the spirit in which we say them, 
so numerous are the musical inflections of 
the voice. And the following may be added 
to the above as instancing some of the 
commonest methods of uttering the familiar 
address : — 

How do you do? Pretty well, thank you. 

=3 p^S, 


How d'ye do? Pretty well, thank you. 

At one time we lift our voice upwards 
when we address our friends. At another 
time we let it sink downwards. What is the 
cause of this difference ? Which is the blither 

by v^ 



and more joyous exclamation of the two ? At 
any rate, both are used, and readers may test 
the cause of the variation themselves. 


Where are you go-ing? I'm going for a walk. 

Occasionally one may overhear a wife 
calling to her husband : — 

Ed - ward ! Ed - ward ! 

And the reply comes : — 

What do you want? 



I want you here. 



■*-s- 3 - 

Don't both - er. 


Let us hope that such an answer is not 
always the final one in a matrimonial con- 
versation ; but at any rate, when it is, it is 
always intoned so. 

The tones of ordinary conversation, when 
the voice is not uplifted in any eagerness or 
emotion, seldom range beyond — 


for women, and the bass equivalent notes for 
men. Small talk, which does not invite any 
enthusiasm, any feeling, or any excitement, 
can be always very completely ejaculated by 
the repetition of these five tones, and the 
intervening semi-tones and demi-tones. For 
the peculiarity of spoken language is that it 
makes great use of the little fraction of 
intervals which play but a small part in music 
proper — that is, at least, in the music of 
European nations. The musical systems of 
some Orientals are in this respect much 
closer to speech than ours is. 

But suppose we pass from the domain of 
small talk and chatter, and give vent to any 
emotional utterance. At once the tones are 
so decided, and so much alike in every one 
of us, that it becomes easy to chronicle them 
and to express them on the stave. 

j i 1 1 .* 1 1 1 




When we sigh, we say :- 

-KW * 

rifc * J J 1.— n- 

r i"j ~W~ ' H li 

*B J! — N — F* ^ — L — 

"^ P f ■ 

*>r -~ J- 

— V 

Heigh - ho! Heigh - ho! 

When we complain, we ejaculate : — 




Oh - - - - dear! Oh 

- dear! 

Hurt us, and we all cry :- 


In different keys, perhaps, according to 
our sex and the pitch of our voices, but 
in pretty much the same notes, every one 
of us. 

Laughter may be expressed very clearly in 
music ; and it has been artistically expressed 
many times. Perhaps the best utterance 
ever given to it is by Handel in U L' Allegro," 
where the words " Laughter holding both his 
sides " almost make the notes, despite them- 
selves, burst into a roar of merriment 
Mephistophdcs" laugh in " Faust " on the G 
in alto will be familiar to opera-goers. Also 
" laughing " songs and " laughing " choruses 

The ordinary laugh of everyday life may 
be here expressed : — 

f^E$E£ E$E^ 


Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha 

or in the shorter and snappier style :- 


ance, in the second place ought to be warned 
that she utters the following intolerable 
musical sentence : — 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

If laughter is so decided in its rhythm and 
clear in its intonation, crying is decidedly 
the reverse. It is very hard to register crying 
in musical notes. The voice slips about at a 
great rate, and rests such a short while on 
any given tone, that the finest ear must con- 
fess itself baffled in the attempt to record 
the plaintive utterance of the heart till long 
practice and many failures have at last 
rendered the attempt possible. A young 
lady giving vent to a tempest of sobs, while 
in the first place she disfigures her counten- 

^ Google 

Vary it as she likes, the variations are yet 
more intolerable : — 

and — 


ih p^ 

While if at the end of her outburst she falls 
into a fit of sobbing, the following ugly noise 
is the result : — 










Not to the exclamations of human beings 
alone does the prose of music extend, but to 
those of the lower animals likewise. 

This is how a cow lows : — 




A horse neighs : — 




r — m 


A lamb bleats : — 

— /- 

Ma - a ma - a 

A donkey brays : — 


-fts> — 

E - haw! 

A calf bleats : — 

haw ! 

haw ! 


Original from 


A dog yelps - : — This as "a pair of bellows" blowing : — 

_- ^-_^esi £j 

A hen cackles :- 



1— H-f- 

PP 1 1 \ t I 


A cat mews : — 


Mi - aw 

Mi • aw. 


A pig grunts : — 

Some of these sounds might be expressed 
on a more elaborate scale, for these creatures, 
like ourselves, do not confine themselves to 
the very simplest utterance of their emotions 
at all times. And to take the cry of the 
horse alone, we may offer the three following 
additional expressions of it : — 

and the following, in the same way, as the 
ring of a counterfeit shilling : — 


while the blacksmith on his anvil, so often 
imitated in songs, is, when reduced to its 

simplest form :- 

The range of the " Prose of Music" is 
practically commensurate with creation it- 
self, and the Greek philosopher who said 
there was music in everything was not 
far from the truth, though we question if 
he ever thought of including the homely 



#— # P # 

I I 

I I 

i i I ] i "i i i ; { |i i 


f f 



I I I i f Itt i -LU-ll | ' I 

Not only animate beings, but inanimate 
objects come within the scope of the " Prose 
of Music." 

Who would not recognise the following as 
" a creaking wheelbarrow " : — 



things which we have incorporated in our 

But enough has been said to show 
what an interesting field the whole subject 
opens up, and what untold enjoyment may 
be had by the amateur investigator if he 

_—- -.* exercises himself in transferring to musical 

gFij^5= g- ~^j "~|| notes the commonest impressions of his 
—* - — — " ear. 

ig ^- iTJgg^-^: 

by Google 

Original from 

A Master of Craft. 

By W, W. Jacobs. 


T is one of the first laws of 
domestic economy that the 
largest families must inhabit 
the smallest houses a state 
of things which is somewhat 
awkward when the heads wish 
to discuss affairs of state. Some preserve a 
certain amount of secrecy by the use of 
fragmentary sentences eked out by nods and 
blinks and by the substitution of capital 
letters for surnames : a practice likely to 
lead to much confusion and scandal when 
the names of several friends begin with the 
same letter. Others improve the family 
orthography to an extent they little dream of 
by spelling certain vital words instead of pro- 
nouncing them, some children profiting so 
much by this form, of vicarious instruction 
that they have been known to close a most 
interesting conversation by thoughtlessly 
correcting their parents on a point of spell- 

There were but few secrets in the Wheeler 
family, the younger members relating each 
other's misdeeds quite 
freely, and refuting the 
charge of tale- bearing by 
keeping debit and credit 
accounts with each other in 
which assets and liabilities 
could usually be balanced by 
simple addition. Among the 
elders , the possession of a 
present secret merely meant 
a future conversation. 

On this day the juniors 
were quite certain that 
secret proceedings of a 
highly interesting nature 
were in the air. Miss 
Tyrell having been out 
since the morning, Mrs. 
Wheeler was looking for- 
ward anxiously to her 
return with the view of 
holding a little private 
conversation with her, and 
the entire Wheeler family 
were no less anxious to act 
as audience for the occa- 
sion. Mr, Bob Wheeler 
had departed to his work 
that morning in a eon- 

VoL xtx.— 8. Copyright, i 

dition which his family, who were fond of 
homely similes, had likened to a bear with a 
sore head, The sisterly attentions of Emma 
Wheeler were met with a boorish request to 
keep her paws off; and a young Wheeler rash 
and inexperienced in the way of this weary 
world, who publicly asked what Bob had "got 
the hump about," was sternly ordered to finish 
his breakfast in the wash-house. Conse- 
quently there was a full meeting after tea, 
and when Poppy entered it was confidently 
expected that proceedings would at once 
open with a speech from the sofa, 

"Take the children outside a bit, Belinda," 
said her mother, after the tea-things had 
been removed. 

" Got my 'onie lessons to do, iJ said 

"Do 'em when you come back," said Mrs. 

" ShaVt 'ave time," replied Belinda, taking 
her books from a shelf; "they'll take me all 
the evening. We've all got a lot of f ome 
lessons to-night," 

u Never mind, you take 'em out," persisted 
Mrs. Wheeler, 

" When I want to go 
out," said Belinda, rebel- 
lion sly, "you won't let 

" Do as your mother tells 
you/' commanded Mr, 
Wheeler, with excellent 

" I want a little quiet," 
said Mrs, Wheeler ; "a 
little fresh air will do you 
good, Peter," 

"I'll go and smoke my 
pipe in the Wash-house," 
said Mr. Wheeler, who 
had his own notions of 
healthful recreation. 

"Take your pipe out- 
side," said Mrs. Wheeler, 
significantly, " Did you 'ear 
what I said, Belinda ? " 

Belinda rose noisily, and 
gathering up her untidy 
books, thrust them back 
in a heap on the shelf, and 
putting on her hat stood 
at the door commenting 
un dutifully upon her 

by W. W. Jacobs in ihc Utiiied StaUJi of AnHjrufipQ pH 


iyoo y by W. 1 



parents, and shrilly demanding of the small 
Wheelers whether they were coming or 
whether she was to stay there all night, She 
also indulged in dreary prognostications con- 
ivrniny her future, and finally driving her 
small fry before her, closed the street door 
with a bang which induced Mrs. Wheeler to 
speak of heredity and Mr, Wheeler's sister 
Jane's temper. 

" Where are you going, Poppy ? " she 
inquired, as the girl rose to follow the dutiful 
Mr. Wheeler. "I want to speak to you a 

The girl resumed her seat, and taking up 
a small garment intended for the youngest 
Wheeler but two, or the youngest but one, 
whichever it happened to fit best, or which- 
ever wanted it first, stitched on in silence. 
" I want to speak to you about Bob/ 7 said 
Mrs, Wheeler, impressively. "Of course you 
know he never keeps any- 
thing from his mother. He 
'as told me about all the 
gells he has walked out 
with, and though, of course, 
he 'as been much run after, 
he is three-and -twenty and 
not married yet, He told 
me that none of 'em seemed 
to be worthy of him." 

She paused for so long 
that Poppy Tyrell looked ■ 
up from her work, said 
"Yes, 8 in an expression- 
less manner, and waited 
for her to continue. 

" He's been a good 
son," said the mother, 
fondly ; "never no trou- 
ble, always been per- 
il ckler, and always quite 
the gentleman. He 
always smokes his cigar 
of a Sunday, and I re- 
member the very first 
money 'e ever earned 'e 
spent on a cane with a 
dog's J ed to it." 

" Yes," said Poppy 

. " The gells he's 'ad 
after T im wouldn't be 
believed," said Mrs. 
Wheeler, shaking her head with a tender 
smile at i hole in the carpet, " Before you 
came here there was a fresh one used to 
come in every Sunday almost, but e couldn't 
make up his mind. We used to joke him 
about it," 


by Google 

" He's very young still," said Poppy. 
" He's old enough to be married," said 
Mrs. Wheeler* " He's told me all about you, 
he never has no secrets from 'is mother. He 
told me that he asked you to walk out with 
'im last night and you said, * No'; but I told 
'im that that was only a gell's way, and that 
you'd give 'im another answer soon," 

"That was my final answer," said Poppy 
Tyrell, the corners of her mouth hardening, 
** I shall never say anything else." 

" All young gells say that at first," said Mrs. 
Wheeler, making praiseworthy efforts to keep 
her temper "Wheeler 'ad to ask me five 

u 1 meant what I said," said Poppy, stitch- 
ing industriously. u I shall never change my 

" It's early days to ask you perhaps so soon 
after Captain Flower's death," suggested Mrs. 

"That has nothing at all 
to do with it," said the girl. 
" I shall not marry your 
son, in any case." 

"Not good enough for 
you, I suppose?" said the 
other, her eyes snapping. 
" In my time beggars 
couldn't be choosers*" 

"They can't choose 
much now," said Poppy, in 
a low voice; "but as you 
know I'm going to a situa- 
tion on Monday, I shall 
soon be able to pay off my 
debt to you : though, of 
course, I can't repay you 
for your kindness in letting 
me live here when I had 
nowhere else to go." 

"It isn't me you owe it 
to," said Mrs. Wheeler. 
" I'm sure I couldn't 'ave 
afforded to do it whatever 
Wheeler liked to say if Bob 
hadn't come forward and 
paid for you/ 1 

" Bob ? " cried Poppy, 
springing to her feet and 
dropping her work on to 
the floor. 

" Ves, Bob," said the 
other, melodramatically ; " T im what isn't 
good enough to be your husband." 

"I didn't know/' said the girl, brokenly ; 
"you should have told me. I would sooner 
starve. I would sooner beg in the streets. 
I will go at once," 

Original from 




"I daresay you know where to go, so I 
sha'n't worry about you," replied Mrs. Wheeler. 
" You quiet ones are generally the worst" 

" I am sorry," murmured Poppy ; " I did 
not mean to be rude, or ungrateful." 

"You're very kind," said Mrs. Wheeler. 
" Is Mr. Fraser up in London ? " 

" I'm sure I don't know," said the girl, 
pausing at the door. 

" Sure to be, though," said Mrs. Wheeler, 
significantly ; " you won't 'ave to starve, my 
dear. But, there, you know that — some 
people's pride is a funny thing." 

Miss Tyrell regarded her for a moment in 
silence, and then quitted the room, coming 
back again from half-way up the stairs to 
answer a knock at the door. She opened it 
slowly, and discovered to her horror Mr. 
Fraser standing upon the doorstep, with a 
smile which was meant to be propitiatory, but 
only succeeded in being uneasy. 

" Is that Mr. Fraser ? " demanded Mrs. 
Wheeler's voice, shrilly. 

" That's me," said Fraser, heartily, as he 
shook hands with Poppy and entered the 

" I thought you wouldn't be far off," said 
Mrs. Wheeler, in an unpleasant voice. 
" Poppy's been expecting you." 

" I didn't know that Mr. Fraser was 
coming," said Poppy, as the helpless man 
looked from one to the other. " I suppose 
he has come to see you. He has not come 
to see me." 

"Yes, I have," said Mr. Fraser, calmly. 
"I wanted " 

But Miss Tyrell had gone quietly upstairs, 
leaving him to gaze in a perturbed fashion at 
the sickly and somewhat malicious face on 
the sofa. 

" What's the matter? " he inquired. 

" Nothing," said Mrs. Wheeler. 

"Isn't Miss Tyrell well?" 

" So far as I'm permitted to know the state 
of 'er 'ealth, she is," was the reply. 

" Mr. Wheeler well ? " inquired Fraser, 
after a long pause. 

41 Very well, I thank you," said Mrs. 

"And Miss Wheeler, and Bob, and the 
whole pa and all ol them ? " said Fraser. 

" All very well," said Mrs. Wheeler. 

His stock of conversation being exhausted, 
he sat glancing uncomfortably round the 
littered room, painfully conscious that Mrs. 
Wheeler was regarding him with a glance 
that was at once hostile and impatient. 
While he was wondering whether Miss 
Tyrell had gone upstairs for a permanency, 


he heard her step on the stairs, and directly 
afterwards she appeared at the door with her 
hat and jacket on. 

"Good-bye, Mrs. Wheeler," she said, 

" Good-bye," said Mrs. Wheeler, in the 
same way that a freer-speaking woman would 
have said " Good riddance." 

The girl's eyes rested for a moment on 
Fraser. Then she bade him good-bye, and, 
opening the door, passed into the street 

Fraser looked at Mrs. Wheeler in perplexity, 
then, jumping up suddenly as Poppy passed 
the window, he crossed to the door. 

" Good-bye, Mrs. Wheeler," he shouted, 
and, vaguely conscious that something was 
wrong somewhere, dashed off in pursuit. 

Poppy Tyrell, her face pale and her eyes 
burning, quickened her pace as she heard 
hurrying footsteps behind her. 

" I just wanted a few words with you, 
Miss Tyrell," said Fraser, somewhat breath- 

" I — I am going on business," said Poppy, 
in a quiet voice. 

" I didn't understand Mrs. Wheeler just 
now," said Fraser. " I hope you didn't mind 
my calling ? " 

" Oh, no," said the girl ; " call as often as 
you like, but this evening I'm busy. Come 

This hospitality over-reached itself. " Have 
you left the Wheelers?" he inquired, suddenly. 

" Yes," said Poppy, simply. 

" What's the good of telling me to call, 
then ? " inquired Fraser, bluntly. 

"They will be pleased to see you, I'm 
sure," said Miss TyrelL 

" Where are you going ? " asked Fraser. 

Miss Tyrell made no reply, except to 
favour him with a glance which warned him 
not to repeat the question, and he walked 
beside her for some time in silence. 

" Good-bye," she said, suddenly. 

" I'm not going," said Fraser, with artless 

" Mr. Fraser," said the girl, reddening with 
anger, " will you please understand that I 
wish to be alone ? " 

" No," said Mr. Fraser, doggedly. 

"A gentleman would not have to have 
half as much said to him," said Poppy, 

" Well, thank God I'm not a gentleman," 
said Fraser, calmly. 

" If I had a father or a brother you would 
not behave like this," said the girl. 

"If you had a father or a brother they 
would do it instead," said Fraser, gently; 




"it's just because you've got nobody else 
that I'm looking after you." . 

Miss Tyrell, who had softened slightly, 
stiffened again with temper. 

u You ? " she said, hotly. " What right have 
you to trouble yourself about me ? " 

**No right at all," said Fraser, cheerfully, 
"but Vm going to do it. If you've left the 
Wheelers, where are you going ? tt 

Miss Tyrell, gating straight in front 
of her, made no reply, 

"Won't you tell nie? J? persisted the 

" I'm not go- 
ing anywhere," 
said Poppy, 
stopping sud- 
denly and fac- 
ing him. " I've 
got a new berth 
next Monday, 
and to-morrow 
morning I am 
going to see 
them to ask 
them to employ 
me at once." 

"And to- 
night?*' sug- 
gested the 

**I shall go 
for a walk," 
said the girl. 
" Now that you 
know all about 
my concerns, 
will you please 

" Walk ?* re- 
peated Fraser. 
"Walk? What, 

all night ? You can't do it — you don't know 
what it's like. Will you let me lend you 
some money? You can repay me as soon 
as you like." 

11 No, thank you." 

11 For my sake ? " he suggested. 

Miss Tyrell raised her eyebrows. 

u l T m a had walknv he explained. 

The reply trembling on Miss TyrelFs lips 
realized that it was utterly inadequate to 
the occasion, and remained unspoken. She 
walked on in silence, apparently oblivious of 
the man by her side, and when he next spoke 
to her made no reply. He glanced at a 
clock in a baker's shop as they passed, and 
saw that it was just seven. 

In this sociable fashion they walked along 



the Commercial Road and on to Aldgate, 
and then, passing up Fenchurch Street, 
mingled with the crowd thronging home- 
wards over London Bridge, They went as 
far as Kennington in this direction, and then 
the girl turned and walked hack to the City, 
Fraser, glancing at the pale profile beside 
him, ventured to speak again. 

/'Will you 
come down to 
Wapping and 
take my cabin 
for the night ? J> 
he asked, anxi- 
ously. "The 
mate's away, 
and I can turn 
in forward — you 
can have it all 
to yourself." 

Miss Tyrell, 

still looking 

straight in front 

of her, made 

no reply, but 

with another 

attempt to 

shake off this 

perti nactous 

young man of 

the sea quickened her 

pace again. Fraser fell 


"If Vm not fit to 
walk beside you, I'll 
walk behind," he said, 
in a low voice ; " you 
won't mind that ? * 

In this way they 
walked through the 
rapidly thinning streets. 
It was now dark, and 
most of the shops had closed, The elas- 
ticity had deputed from Miss Ty rail's step, 
and she walked aimlessly, noting with a 
sinking at the heart the slowly passing time. 
Once or twice she halted from sheer weari- 
ness, Fraser halting too, and watching her 
with a sympathy of which Flower would 
most certainly have disapproved if he had 
seen it 

At length, in a quiet street beyond Strat- 
ford, she not only stopped, but turned and 
walked slowly back. Fraser turned too, and 
his heart beat as he fancied that she intended 
to overtake him. He- quickened his pace in 
time with the steps behind him until they 
slackened and faltered ; then he looked 
round and saw her standing in the centre of 
Original fronn 




the pathway with her head bent He walked 
back slowly until he stood beside her, and 
saw that she was crying softly. He placed 
his hand on her arm. 

" Go away," she said, in a low voice. 

" I shall not" 

" You walked away from me just now." 

<: I was a brute," said Fraser, vehemently. 

The arm beneath his hand trembled, and 
he drew it unresistingly through his own. In 
the faint light from the lamp opposite he saw 
her look at him. 

" I'm very tired," she said, and leaned 
on him trustfully. " Were you really going to 
4eave me just now ? " 

"You know I was not," said Fraser, 

Miss Tyrell, walking very slowly, pon- 
dered. " I should never have forgiven you 
if you had," she said, thoughtfully. " I'm so 
tired, I can hardly stand. You must take 
me to your ship." 

They walked slowly to the end of the 
road, but the time seemed very short to 
Fraser. As far as he was concerned he 
would willingly have dispensed with the 
tram which they met at the end and the 
antique four-wheeler in which they completed 
their journey to the river. They found a 
waterman's skiff at the stairs, and sat side 
by side in the stern, looking contentedly 
over the dark water, as the waterman 
pulled in the direction of the Swallow, 
which was moored in the tier. There 
was no response to their hail, and Fraser 
himself, clambering over the side, assisted 
Miss Tyrell, who, as the daughter of one 
sailor and the guest of another, managed 
to throw off her fatigue sufficiently to 
admire the lines of the small steamer. 

Fraser conducted her to the cabin, and 
motioning her to a seat on the locker, 
went forward to see about some supper. 
He struck a match in the forecastle and 
scrutinized the sleepers, and coming to the 
conclusion that something which was lying 
doubled up in a bunk, with its head 
buried in the pillow, was the cook, shook 
it vigorously. 

" Did you want the cook, sir ? " said a 
voice from another bunk. 

" Yes," said Fraser, sharply, as he punched 
the figure again and again. 

"Pore cookie ain't well, sir," said the 
seaman, sympathetically ; " 'e's been very 
delikit all this evenin'; that's the worst o' 
them teetotalers." 

" All right ; that'll do," said the skipper, 
sharply, as he struck another match, and 

by V_ 



gave the invalid a final disgusted punch. 
" Where's the boy ? " 

A small, dirty face with matted hair pro- 
truded from the bunk above the cook and 
eyed him sleepily. 

" Ciet some supper," said Fraser, "quick." 

"Supper, sir?" said the boy, with a 
surprised yawn. 

" And be quick about it," said the skipper, 
" and wash your face first, and put a comb 
through your hair. Come, out you get." 

The small sleeper sighed disconsolately, 
and, first extending one slender leg, clambered 
out and began to dress, yawning pathetically 
as he did so. 

" And some coffee," said Fraser, as he lit 
the lamp and turned to depart 

" Bill," said the small boy, indignantly. 

" Wot d'ye want ? " said the seaman. 

"'Elp me to wake that drunken pig up," 
said the youth, pointing a resentful finger at 
the cook. "I ain't goin' to do all the 

" You leave J im alone," said Bill, ferociously. 
The cook had been very liberal that evening, 
and friendship is friendship, after all. 

" That's what a chap gets by keeping his- 
self sober," said the youthful philosopher, as 
he poured a little cold tea out of the kettle 
on to his handkerchief and washed himself. 
" Other people's work to do." 

He went grumbling up to the galley, and, 
lighting some sticks, put the kettle on, and 
then descended to the cabin, starting with 
genuine surprise as he saw the skipper sitting 
opposite a pretty girl, who was leaning back 
in her seat fast asleep. 

"Cook'll be sorry 'e missed this," he 
murmured, as he lighted up and began briskly 
to set the table. He ran up on deck again 
to see how his fire was progressing, and 
thrusting his head down the forecastle com- 
municated the exciting news to Bill. 

To Fraser sitting watching his sleeping 
guest it seemed like a beautiful dream. That 
Poppy Tyrell should be sitting in his cabin 
and looking to him as her only friend seemed 
almost incredible. A sudden remembrance 
of Flower subdued at once the ardour of his 
gaze, and he sat wondering vaguely as to the 
whereabouts of that erratic mariner until his 
meditations were broken by the entrance of 
the boy with the steaming coffee, followed 
by Bill bearing a couple of teaspoons. 

" I nearly went to sleep," said Poppy, as 
Fraser roused her gently. 

She took 'off her hat and jacket, and 
Fraser, taking them from her, laid them 
reverently in his bunk. Then Poppy moved 




farther along the seat, and, taking some coffee, 
pronounced herself much refreshed. 

" I've been very rude to you," she said, 
softly; "but Mrs. Wheeler was very unkind, 
and said that of course I should go to you* 
That was why/' 

" Mrs. Wheeler is " began Fraser, and 

stopped suddenly. 

i£ Of course it was quite true," said Poppy, 
healthfully attacking her plate ; " I did have 
to come to you." 

** It was rather an odd way of coming," 
said Fraser ; ** my legs ache now." 

The girl laughed softly, and continued to 
laugh. Then her 
eyes moistened, 
and her face 
became troubled. 
Fraser, as the 
best thing to do, 
made an excuse 
and went up on 
deck ? to the dis- 
comfort of Bill 
and the boy 
who were not 
expecting him. 

Poppy was 
calm again by 
the time he re- 
turned, and 
thanked him 
again softly as 
he showed her 
her bunk and 
withdrew for the 
night. Bill and 
the boy placed 
their berths at 
his disposal, but 
he declined them 
in favour of a 
blanket in the 
galley, where he 
sat up and slept 
but ill all night, 
and was a source 
of great embar- 
rassment to the cook next morning when he 
wanted to enter to prepare breakfast. 

Poppy presided over that meal, and it and 
the subsequent walk to discover lodgings are 
among Fraser^s dearest memories. He trod 
on air through the squalid roads by her side, 
and, the apartments having been obtained, 
sat on the arm of the arm-chair— the most 
comfortable part — and listened to her plans. 

"And you won't go away without letting 
me know ? ,J he said, as he rose to depart. 





Miss Tyrell shook her head, and her eyes 
smiled at him. "You know I won't," she 
said, softly, " I don't want to." 

She saw him to the door, and until he had 
quitted the gate kept it hospitably open. 
Fraser, with his head in a whirl, went back 
to the Swalhw* 

The prime result of Mrs, Banks's nocturnal 
ramble with Mr. William Green was a feeling 
of great bitterness against her old friend, 
Captain John Barber, Mr. Green, despite 
her protests, was still a member of the crew 
of the F&am, and walked about Sea bridge in 

broad daylight, 
while she crept 
forth only after 
sundown, and 
saw a hidden 
meaning in every 
" Fine evening, 
Mrs. Banks, " 
which met her. 
She pointed out 
to Captain Barber 
that his refusal 
to dismiss Mr. 
Green was a re- 
flection upon her 
veracity, and 
there was a 
strange light in 
her eyes and a 
strange harden- 
ing of her mouth 
as the old man 
said that to 
comply with her 
request would be 
to reflect upon 
the polite sea- 
man's veracity. 

Her discom- 
fiture was not 
lessened by the 
unbecoming be- 
haviour of her 
daughter, who, 
in some subtle manner, managed to convey 
that her acceptance of her mother's version 
of the incident depended upon the way she 
treated Mr, Frank Gibson. It was a hard 
matter to a woman of spirit, and a harder 
thing still that those of her neighbours who 
listened to her account of the affair were 
firmly persuaded that she was setting her 
cap at Captain Barber. 

To clear her character from this imputa- 
tion, and at the same time to mark her 
Original from 



sense of the captain's treatment of her, Mrs. 
Banks effected a remarkable change of front, 
and, without giving him the slightest warning, 
set herself to help along his marriage with 
Mre, Church, 

She bantered him upon the subject when 
she met him out, and, disregarding his 
wrathful embarrassment, accused him in a 
loud voice of wearing his tie in a love-knot 
She also called him a turtle-dove. The mw 
versation ended here T the turtle-dove going 
away crimson with indignation and cooing 

Humbled by the terrors of his position, 
the proud shipowner turned more than ever 
to Captain Nibletts for comfort and sympathy, 
and it is but due to that little man to say that 
anything he could have done for his bene- 
factor would have given him the greatest 
delight. He spent much of his spare time 
in devising means for his rescue, all of which 
the old man listened to with impatience and 
rejected with contumely. 

M It's no good, Nibletts," he said, as they 

sat in the subdued light of the cabin one 
evening "Nothing can be done. If any- 
thing could be done, I should have thought 
of it/ 1 

u Yes, that's what struck me/' said the 
little skipper, dutifully. 

"Fve won that woman's 'art/' said Captain 
Barber, miserably; "in 'cr anxiety to keep 
me the woman's natur 3 has changed. There's 
nothing she wouldn't do to make sure of 

"It's understandable, 3 ' said Nibletts, 
" It's understandable/' agreed Captain 
Barber, " but it's orkard. Instead o' being a 
mild, amiable sort o* woman, all smiles, the 
fear o* losing me has changed s er into a 
determined, jealous woman. She told me 
herself it was love of me 'as 'ad changed her/* 
"You ain't written to her, I suppose?" 
asked Nibletts, twisting his features into an 
expression of great cunning. 

Captain Barber shook his head, "If you'd 

think afore speaking, Nibletts," he said, 

severely, M you'd know as people don't write 

to each other when they're in the same 


The skipper apologized. " What I mean 
to say is this," he said, softly. " She 
hasn't got your promise in writing, and 
she's done all the talking about it I'm 
the only one you've spoken to about it, I 
s'pose ? " 

Captain Barber nodded, 
u Well, forget all about it/' said Nibletts, 
in an excited whisper. 

Captain Barber looked at him pityingly. 
" What good'll that do ? " he asked. 
"Forget the understanding/' continued 
Nibletts, in a stage whisper, " forget every- 
thing; forget Captain Flower's death, act 
as you acted just afore he went. People'U 
soon see as you're strange in your manner, 
and I'll put the news about as 
you've been so affected by that 
affair that your memory's gone." 

" I was thinking of doing that 
the other day myself/' said Cap- 
tain Barber, slowly and untruth- 

11 I thought you was, from 
something you said," replied 

" I think I spoke of it, or I 
was going to," said Barber. 

"You did say something," said 

" I wonder what would be the 
best way to begin/' said Barber, 
regarding him attentively. 


6 4 


Captain Nibletts's nerve failed him at the 

" It's your plan, Captain Barber," he said, 
impressively, "and nobody can tell a man 
like you how it should be done. It wants 
acting, and you've got to have a good 
memory to remember that you haven't got a 

"Say that agin," said Captain Barber, 
breathing thickly. 

Captain Nibletts repeated it, and Captain 
Barber, after clearing his brain with a glass 
of spirits, bade him a solemn good-night, 
and proceeded slowly to his. home. The 
door was opened by Mrs. Church, and a hum 
of voices from the front room indicated 
company. Captain Barber, hanging his hat 
on a peg, entered the room to discover 
Mrs. Banks and daughter, attended by Mr. 

" Where's Fred ? " he asked, slowly, as he 
took a seat. 

" Who f " said Miss Banks, with a little 

" Lawk-a-mussy, bless the man," said her 
mother. " I never did." 

" Not come in yet ? " asked Barber, looking 
round with a frightful stare. "The Foam's 

The company exchanged glances of con- 

" Why, is he alive ? " inquired Mrs. Church, 

"Alive," repeated Captain Barber. " Why 
shouldn't he be? He was alive yesterday, 
wasn't he ? " 

There was a dead silence, and then Captain 
Barber from beneath his shaggy eyebrows 
observed with delight that Gibson, tapping 
his forehead significantly, gave a warning 
glance at the others, while all four sitting in 
a row watched anxiously for the first signs of 
acute mania. 

" I expect he's gone round after you, my 
dear," said the wily Barber to Miss Banks. 

In the circumstances this was certainly 
cruel, and Gibson coughed confusedly. 

"I'll go and see," said Miss Banks, 
hurriedly ; " come along, mother." 

The two ladies, followed by Mr. Gibson, 
shook hands and withdrew hurriedly. Captain 
Barber, wondering how to greet Mrs. Church 
after he had let them out, fixed his eyes on 
the carpet and remained silent. 

"Aren't you well?" inquired the lady, 

" Well, ma'am ? " repeated Uncle Barber, 
with severity. 

" Ma'am ? " said Mrs. Church, in tones of 

by V_ 



tender reproach ; " two hours ago I was 
Laura. Have you been to the Thorn ? " 

" What Thorn ? " demanded Captain 
Barber, who had decided to forget as much 
as possible, as the only safe way. 

"The Thorn Inn," said Mrs. Church, 

" Where is it ? " inquired Captain Barber, 

Mrs. Church looked at him with deep 
consideration. "Why, at the end of the 
cottages, opposite the Swan." .-• 

" What Swan ? " inquired Captain Barber. 

"The Swan Inn," said Mrs. Church, 
restraining her temper, but with difficulty. 

" Where is it ? " said Uncle Barber, with 
breezy freshness. 

" Opposite the Thorn, at the end of the 
row," said Mrs. Church, slowly. 

" Well, what about it ? " inquired Captain 

" Nothing," said Mrs. Church, sharply, 
and proceeded to set supper. 

Captain Barber, hugging himself over his 
scheme, watched her eagerly, evincing a little 
bewilderment as she brought on a small, 
unappetizing rind of cheese, bread, two 
glasses, and a jug of water. He checked 
himself just in time from asking for the cold 
fowl and bacon left from dinner, and, drawing 
his chair to the table, eyed the contents 

" Only bread and cheese ? " he said, some- 
what peevishly. 

"That's all," said Mrs. Church, smiling; 
" bread and cheese and kisses." 

Captain Barber tapped his forehead. 
" What did we have for dinner ? " he asked, 

"Sausages," replied Mrs. Church, blandly; 
"we ate them all." 

A piece of Captain Barber's cheese went 
the wrong way, and he poured himself out 
some water and drank it hurriedly. " Where's 
the beer ? " he demanded. 

" You've got the key of the cask," said the 

Captain Barber, whose temper was rising, 
denied it. 

" I gave it to you this morning," said Mrs. 
Church ; " you were going to do something 
to it, don't you know?" 

" I don't remember," said Uncle Barber, 

"Whatever has happened to your memory ?* 
said Mrs. Church, sweetly. 

" My memory," said the trickster, slowly, 
passing his hand over his brow ; " why, what's 
the matter with it ? " 

Original from 





w It doesn't seem quite so good as it was," 
said the lady, affectionately, " Never mind, 
my memory will have to do for- both," 

There was enough emphasis on this last 
sentence to send a little chill through the 
captain's frame. He said nothing, but keep- 
ing his eye on his plate attacked his frugal 
meal in silence, and soon afterwards went 
upstairs to bed to think out his position. 

If his own memory was defective, Mrs, 
Church's was certainly redundant. When lie 
came hurrying in to dinner next day she 
remembered that he had told her he should 
not be home to that meal He was ungallant 
enough to contemplate a raid upon hers ; 
she, with a rare thoughtfulness, had already 
eaten it. He went to the Thorn, and had 
some cold salt beef, and cursed the ingenious 
Nibletts, now on his way to London, sky- 
Mrs. Banks came in the next evening with 
her daughter, and condoled with the house- 
keeper on the affliction which had already 
been noised about Seabridge. Mrs. Church, 
who had accepted her as an ally, but with 
mental reservations, softly applied a hand- 
kerchief to her eyes, 

u How are you feeling ? " demanded 
Mrs* Banks , in the voice of one addressing a 
deaf invalid. 

" I'm all right," said Barber, 

(t That's his pride," said 
Mrs. Church, mournfully; "he 
won't own to it He can't 

Cr member anything. He pre- 
tends he doesn't know me." 
kt Who are you ? " asked the 
sufferer, promptly, 

"Hell' get the better of it," 
said Mrs. Banks kindly, as her 
quondam foe wiped 
her eyes again, "If 
he don't, you'd better 
marry before Octo- 

To say that Cap- 
tain Barber pricked 
up his ears at this 
indicates but feebly 
his interest in the 
remark. He held his 
breath and looked 
wildly round the 
room as the two 
ladies, deftly ignoring 
him, made their 
arrangements for Ms 
" I don't like to seem to hurry it," said the 

"No, of course you don't. If he said 
October, naturally October it ought to be, in 
the usual way/ 1 remarked the other. 

" I never said October," interrupted the 
trembling mariner. 

"There's his memory again," said Mrs. 
Banks, in a low voice, 

" Poor dear," sighed the other. 
" We'll look after your interests," said Mrs. 
Banks, with a benevolent smile, " Don't 
ypu remember meeting me by the church 
the other night and telling me that you 
were going to marry Mrs. Church in 
October ? " 

" No," bawled the affrighted man. 
"Clean gone," said Mrs. Church, shaking 
her head J "it's no use." 

"Not a bit," said Mrs. Banks* 
"October seems rather early," said Mrs, 
Church, "especially as he is in mourning for 
his nephew." 

"There's no reason for waiting,' 1 said Mrs. 
Banks, decidedly, "1 daresay its his loneli- 
ness that makes him want to hurry it. After 
all, he ought to know what he wants," 

" I never said a word about it," interposed 
Captain Barber, in a loud voice, 

"All right," said Mrs. Banks, indulgently* 




" What are you going to wear, my dear? " she 
added, turning to the housekeeper. 

Mrs. Church seemed undecided, and 
Captain Barber, wiping the moisture from 
his brow, listened as one in a dream to a 
long discussion nil the possibilities of her 
wardrobe. Thrice he interrupted, and thrice 
the ladies, suspending their conversation for 
a moment, eyed him with tender pity before 
resuming it. 

"Me and Frank thought of October," 
said Elizabeth, speaking for the first time. 
She looked at Captain Barber, and then at 
her mother. It was the look of one offering 
to sell a casting vole. 

very chairs on which they were sitting, en- 
deavoured in vain to stop them on a point of 
order, and discovered to his mortification 
that a man without a memory is a man 
without influence. In twenty minutes it 
was all settled, and even an approximate 
date fixed. There was a slight movement 
on the part of Elizabeth to obtain Captain 
Barber's opinion upoi> that, but being 
reminded by her mother that he would 
forget all about it in half an hours time, she 
settled it without him, 

l< Fm so sorry about your memory, Captain 
Barber/' said Mrs, Banks, as she prepared 
to depart. " I can understand what a loss 


"October's early/' said the old lady, 

Mrs. Church looked up at her, and then 
modestly looked down again, " Why not a 
double wedding?" she asked, gently. 

Captain Barber's voice was drowned in 
acclamations. Elizabeth kissed Mrs* Church, 
and then began to discuss her own wardrobe. 
The owner of the house, the owner of the 

it is. My memory's a very good one. I 
never forget anything." 

" You forget yourself, ma am," returned 
her victim, with unconscious ambiguity, and, 
closing the door behind her, returned to the 
parlour to try and think of some means of 
escaping from the position to v;iiich the 
ingenuity of Captain Nibtctts, aided by that 
of Mrs, Banks, had brought him. 

(To fie cmimued*) 

by Google 

Original from 

Du Manrier at the "Punch" Table. 

By Henry W. Lucy. 

HE Punch Dinner Table is 
one of the closest corpora- 
tions in the world. The door 
of the room where the weekly 
feast is held is as jealously 
" tiled" as if the business of the 
evening were connected with Freemasonry. 
In my time, men finally honoured with invita- 
tion to sit " round the mahogany tree " went 
through a sort of probationary term. Once 
or twice a year there were jaunts up the river 
or four-in-hand drives to famous country 
taverns. Here dinner was served in bounti- 
ful fashion. But it was not at the Table, and 
it was therefore permissible for the editor to 
include in the invitation specially favoured 
outside contributors. 

There was a memorable occasion when, in 
1881, Frank Burnand succeeding to the 
editorship, the principle of extending the 
borders of companionship was liberally inter- 
preted. All the regular outside contributors, 
whether with pen or pencil, were bidden to 
a feast spread at the Albion, a famous City 

After dinner we played at "Wednesday 
night in Bouverie Street" The waiters were 
sent out of the room, the attention of the 
company concentrated, and the signal given, 
"Now, gentlemen, the big cartoon, if you 

The big cartoon is still, as it has been for 
many years, the work of that preux chevalier, 
John Tenniel. The second cut — the under- 
cut it is more familiarly called — grows 
under the graceful pencil of Linley Sam- 
bourne. The big cartoon looks, as a work 
of consummate art should look, easy to do 
when it is finished and laid out on the book- 
stalls. The general impression in the minds 
of nine-tenths of the ladies and gentlemen 
who buy Punch on Wednesday is that Sir 
John Tenniel knocked, off the cartoon on 
Tuesday afternoon, probably between lunch 
and dinner time. That idea, whilst belittling 
the thought and labour involved, is, really, a 
compliment to the work. The Punch car- 
toon, necessarily dealing with the subtlest 

Digitized by V^OOglC 

developments of intricate political events, 
often of international concern, comes out 
on a Wednesday so pat to the actual situa- 
tion of the hour, that it is natural to suppose 
it was achieved, as leading articles in the 
morning paper are, on the latest intelligence 
of the night before publication. 

As a matter of fact, Mr. Punch's young 
men, sitting in council on one Wednesday 
night, must needs see a week ahead, the 
cartoon illustrating the position not as it is 
on Wednesday the first of the month, but as 
it will be on Wednesday the eighth. This is 
skating over very thin ice, a practice rendered 
possible only by the exercise of intimate 
knowledge of political affairs, combined with 
sound judgment. Only once in recent times 
has Punch stumbled, and the accident is so 
rare that everyone remembers it. When the 
relief column was advancing to the deliver- 
ance of Gordon, cooped up in Khartoum, a 
point was reached whereat the final triumph 
seemed a matter of a clearly defined number 
of days. Viewing the situation, as usual, a 
week ahead, the cartoon was devised showing 
Gordon out of the thicket. On Wednesday 
morning, when the triumphant cartoon was 
opened on all the bookstalls, there came 
news that Gordon was slain. 

The outsiders, guests at the Albion dinner 
party in 1881, knew nothing of all this. 
Each in turn set himself with a light 
heart to devising a cartoon, and probably no 
room of the same size encompassed an equal 
amount of impracticable rubbish. 

I have no recollection of meeting, 
du Maurier at this my first Punch dinner. 
It was later in the same year that I 
came into close companionship with him, 
beginning a friendship that only death 
chilled. It -was on the occasion of one of 
the trips up the river, engineered and person- 
ally conducted by bluff-mannered, generous- 
hearted William Bradbury, the representative 
of the proprietors of Punch, who for more 
than a generation sat in the vice-chair at the 
Wednesday dinner, with du Maurier on his 
left hand. 




From a I*hQtQ. by LuiUy ^ntnboKtiu- 

A famous outing of this kind has its memory 
preserved by a set of photographs taken on 
the spot. We drove to Dorking in a four-in- 
hand, du Maurier to our regret being unable 
to join the party. It was in mid- July, but the 
weather turned out more appropriate to mid- 
winter* However, we made the best of it, 
and Linley Sam bourne (known to his brethren 

at the table by the affectionate diminutive 
" Sammy") undertook to picture the scene. 
Three times, under slightly varying circum- 
stances of weather, we formed a group. 
In the first photograph, hatted and hooded, 
with coats buttoned up and umbrellas ready 
(F. C B n careful of a precious life,* has, it 
will be observed, placed a newspaper between 

From d PhQta. fry Ltafcy Sambourn*. 

by LnOOgl C 

Original from 



the soles of his boots and the sodden turf), 
we enjoyed the July weather of the &o$alied 
nineteenth century, j 

A little later came a gleam of sunshine* 
Off went the coats, down were flung the 

a cheerful little group of otherwise unfamiliar 
faces. This j I found, was the Punch staff, 
and lo ! my com pardon $ in the fly were two 
of its oldest members* 

In later years it chanced that I sat every 

brum a JPAiito. fay Harry Fumis*. 

umbrellas, heads were uncovered, and we 
made believe it was a summer day. (Ob- 
serve Sir John Tenniel mopping his brow, 
wet with honest sweat of a sultry day.) 
Scene III. Presto ! The sun has fled, dark 
clouds are gathered again, and we, once 
more coated and hatted f err joy July weather. 
In this last scene the figure on the extreme 
right is altered, Harry Furniss going off to 
work the camera, so that Sammy's manly 
form might adorn the picture. 

On the occasion ever stored in memory 
as that on which I made du Maurier's 
acquaintance, we were to join the steam 
launch at a point on the river some two 
miles distant from the railway station. On 
leaving the train I found there was only one 
fiy at the door, and that already engaged by 
two gentlemen. By strange good fortune I 
gathered from direction given to the cabman 
that they were going to the very place whither 
I was bound, I ventured to ask to be 
allowed to share the expense of the fly t a 
request courteously granted. We jogged 
along, talking of the weather and other non- 
committal topics, till we arrived at the inn 
yard, where I found my editor standing amid 


Wednesday night between Gil a Beckett 
and The Professor, as Percival Leigh was 
called. We sometimes talked about that 
drive, and they told me how they had 
wondered who the deuce I was that I should 
want to be driving to the very inn where 
Mr Punch and his young men foregathered 
with designs on dinner. I fancy they thought 
it was exceedingly presumptuous conduct. 

Before dinner we went for a spin up the 
river in the launch. Du Maurier in his 
boyish fashion was lying full length in the 
bow of the boat, smoking his eternal cigarette. 
I timidly approached, planted myself in his 
neighbourhood, and he, in his unvaried simple, 
unaffected manner, forthwith began to talk as 
if we had been friends since schooldays. He 
was a charming talker, and enjoyed the 
exercise of his gift. But in this respect, as in 
all others, he was absolutely free from anything 
like assumption or self- assert ion. His talk 
was as unpremeditated, frequently as joyous, 
as the singing of the lark. 

At the weekly council he rarely contributed 

suggestions to the cartoon. He had no care 

for, and very little knowledge of, polities, 

with which the work was chiefly concerned, 

Original from 




Somelimes when the design and its treatment 
were settled in every detail, and there came 
the consideration of the title, he would flash 
forth a happy suggestion that settled a knotty 
point. (I have known the discussion over the 
title of the cartoon exceed in length debate 
on design of the picture.) It was after 
work was done, fresh cigars lit, tumblers 
filled, and the flood of hilarity, temporarily 
dammed by the obstacle of serious work, 
once more surging, that du Maurier developed 
Into Kicky, and became, as someone effusive 
to the point of a misplaced plural said, 
"the life and souls of the party." On 
summer nights he liked to take his coat 
off, borrow an additional chair, and, reclin- 
ing on the two, open out the founts of 
his fancy and his humour. 

It happened that, everyone seated in his 
appointed place at the table, I was through 
the dinner separated by the length of the 
board from du Maurier. Often, when William 
Bradbury had gone off to catch an early 
train for his suburban home, I migrated to 
the empty seat next to du Maurier, occa- 
sions when I did not get home very early. 
As for du Maurier, once he had got his 
coat off, with two chairs to loll upon, a 
box of cigarettes at hand, and a bottle of 
claret on the table, he did not want to go 
home at all. Nor was there any need 
suggested by the well of his brilliant con- 
versation running dry. 

\ Perhaps one influence that made him 
shrink from starting for home was the length 
of the journey, and the inevitable trouble with 
the cabman. During the greater part of his 
connection with Punch he lived on the 
verge of Hampstead Heath. It was a charm- 
ing place — when you got there. But, as du 
Maurier used to say, parodying a line from a 
music-hall refrain then popular, " You've got 
to get there fust." The bloated London 
cabman, on the look-out for fat fares for short 
distances, shrank with honest indignation 
from the prospect of receiving a shilling over 
the regulation fare for a journey to the 
extreme edge of the four-mile radius, including 
ascent of one of the slopes of Hampstead 

When Major O'Gorman was still with us in 
the House of Commons — 

Our portly and ponderous Major, 
Our mighty, magnificent Major : 

The Councils of State 

Have no man of such weight 
Or such girth as our bould Irish Major 

-it was told in the smoking-room how, 
when he appeared in Palace Yard with 

evident design of being driven home, all the 
drivers of four-wheelers lashed their horses 
into a gallop and dashed out of the Yard, 
fearful lest one or other should be selected 
to convey this more than nineteen stone of 
humanity. Du Maurier told me, and here 
the conception was even more fanciful, that 
as soon as he emerged from Bouverie Street 
into Fleet Street, after the Wednesday night 
dinner, the hansom cabmen right and left 
whipped up their horses and fled. 

"T!;dy knew I wanted to go to Hamp- 
stead," he gravely insisted. 

In later years he overcame this difficulty 
in the happiest fashion. As he admitted, 
his house, " when you got there," was what 
agents call extremely "eligible." It stood in 
a quiet, old-fashioned street, with a view of 
the Heath, over which du Maurier frequently 
trudged and communed with himself. It was 
during one of these morning walks, on this 
occasion accompanied by a friend, that he 
first told the story of Peter Ibbetsen, sug- 
gesting it as the framework of a novel. 

" Why don't you write it yourself?" asked 
his companion. 

Du Maurier laughed at the idea. He was 
a poor artist in black and white. It was not 
for him to take up the pen to compete with 
the ready writer. Still, he was fascinated by 
the plot his fancy had evolved, and urgently 
pressed it on the acceptance of his friend, to 
make his own book withal. The generous 
offer was declined, and so it came to pass 
that, as no one else would do it, du Maurier 
wrote " Peter Ibbetsen." 

Some years before his death there came an 
offer to rent New Grove House, furnished 
for the summer season. Du Maurier 
jumped at this opportunity of a change 
of residence nearer to the centre of things 
in town. Thereafter he generally let his 
Hampstead house, and, with the rent received, 
took a furnished house in a more accessible 
region. When the success of his novels 
made him rich beyond his modest dreams of 
avarice he finally quitted Hampstead, taking 
the lease of a roomy corner house in Oxford 
Square. Last of all, he finally went back to 
Hampstead, carried through a crowd that 
lined the old familiar ways, housed and 
homed in a corner of the churchyard whose 
walls he had often skirted on his way to and 
from, the Punch dinner-table. 

During the weeks of his residence in town 
he seized the opportunity of giving a 
succession of dinner parties. Whether as 
host or guest, he was a charming man to 
meet in Bouverie Street or elsewhere. Here 


■-■I I L| 1 1 I :i I I I _' 




is one of his little notes about a dinner he 
missed, interesting chiefly for the sketch of 
Burnand as Mephistopkcles and himself as 


eJOZf c^,~ **■ f ^^/^> 




I happened to be present at what was, I 
believe, the last of a delightful series of 
home dinners interrupted by his illness. As 
usual, it was a small party, the number de- 
signed to meet what du Maurier properly 
regarded as an essential to a successful dinner, 
the opportunity of occasional lapses into 
general conversation. 

" When I go out to an ordinary dinner 
party," he used to say, " I often feel that I 
might as well be dining at a table d'hote. I 
have a neighbour on my right and another 
on my left to whom 1 talk in turn. For all 
practical purposes I am dining with these 

Digitized by t_T< 

two whom possibly I never met before, may 
never see again, whose company I certainly 
did not select. They may be moderately 
bright; in which case one has a pleasant 
dinner. Ten to one they 
are duffers, and like a star- 
ling you may have read 
about, I can't get out At 
least not until the long, un- 
lovely dinner is over." 

An incident in connection 
with this last dinner party 
at Oxford Square dwells in 
my mind as revealing a cer- 
tain stage of hypochondria 
that marked the approach 
to the end. Amongst the 
guests were Mrs. Humphry 
Ward, Sir George Trevelyan, 
and Mr. Andrew Lang. 
Everything went brightly, 
only the host sitting strangely 
silent with a rare look of 
moodiness on his face. He 
told me afterwards in tone 
of bitter disappointment that 
he had taken special pains 
to make up the party, and it 
had proved a dismal failure. 
Andrew Lang is a very old 
friend of mine. For more 
than twenty years we were 
colleagues * on the same 
morning journal. He 
arrived in the drawing-room 
some few minutes later than 
I. By some sudden freak, instead of 
shaking hands as others did, we with 
mock courtesy made each other a pro- 
found bow. Du Maurier observed this, 
and straightway drew the most lugu- 
brious conclusions. 

" Of course I know," he said. " It 
often happens that fellows living to- 
gether on a paper fall out. But I'd 
no idea you and I-ang weren't on speaking 

It was with the greatest difficulty I eased 
his mind on this point. On the general 
question of the success of the brilliant little 
party he would not be comforted. 

Success in a new field, the magnitude of 
which comes to but one man in a generation, 
had no effect in the direction of turning 
du Maurier's head. Whilst the new world 
and the old were ringing with praise of 
" Trilby," whilst the Haymarket was blocked 
with a crowd patiently waiting their turn to 
gain admission to the theatre where it had been 




placed on the stage, the author was in his rela- 
tions with his family and at the Punch Table 
the same simple-mannered, delightful com- 
panion known to them before, as he said, he 
"struck ile." Nevertheless, there was a palp- 
able change in him, the result of fading health. 
His blood chilled with premonitory touch of 
the hand of death, he fell into moods of 
depression, plaining that success had come 
too late. A week or two after the dinner 
in Oxford Square he dined with us on 
what turned out to be the last time I saw 
him. He was in much "better spirits, talk- 
ing hopefully about another novel he had 
in his mind in succession to "The Martians. " 

"And what will you call it?" his old 
friend Lord Wolseley asked. 

" 'Soured by Success,' " du Maurier quickly 

At the Punch Table du Maurier was 
always Kicky, as the late Percival Leigh 
was The Professor, as Sir John Tenniel still 
is Jack Ides, and as Linley Sambourne is 
reduced to the proportions of Sammy. 
The difference is that whereas these last 
three names were conferred at the Table, 
du Maurier brought his with him from his 
nursery. When he was a child in Brussels, 
just sixty-three years ago, there was of the 
household a Flemish servant named Francis. 
Between the burly Flamande and the baby 
boy there existed a strong affection. In his 
latest days du Matirier recalled how Francis 
used to take him in his arms and carry him 
off to show him some birds painted on 
window-panes. The child thought they were 
real, and wondered they didn't fly away. 
Francis called his little pet " Z* manniken" 
Infant lips attempting to pronounce the 
phrase produced " Kicky." Thus it came to 
pass that in the family circle and in the 
brotherhood of the Punch Table he was 
Kicky to the end. 

His real name was, in its full length, far 
more imposing : George Louis Palmella 
Busson du Maurier ! It sounds like the 
style of one of Ivanhoe's companions. As a 
matter of fact, it is of modern origin. 
The family name was Busson. Du Maurier 
is a territorial appellation derived from a 
chateau built in the fifteenth century, situated . 
either in Anjou or Maine, du Maurier was 
not certain which. 

" Anyhow," he said, on the only occasion 
he referred to the matter, " it's a brewery 

Du Maurier, though he did not often talk 
of it, was - proud of his family descent, and 
was well acquainted with the ramifications of 

Digitized by L-OOgle 

the family tree. In " Peter Ibbetsen," all un- 
suspected, lurk names that grow upon it, 
transferred to characters in the novel. His 
mother was an Englishwoman ; his father, 
though a Frenchman, was born in England. 
Their famous son was born in Paris on the 
6th of March, 1834. He did not come into 
large inheritance of the world's goods. The 
household income was drawn chiefly from 
the family glass works in Anjou. The 
father, from whom du Maurier inherited his 
love of music and his beautiful voice, was a 
somewhat impracticable man. He was ever 
hitting upon inventions that were, some day, 
to make the family fortune, and meanwhile 
ate up the monthly remittances from the 
prosaic glass works. He moved about from 
Paris to Brussels, from Belgium to London, 
from No. i, Devonshire Terrace (later the 
home of Charles Dickens), to Boulogne, from 
Boulogne back to Paris, and once more to 
London, where young du Maurier was sent 
to the Birkbeck laboratory with instructions 
from his father to become a great chemist. 

This design was pursued to the extent that, 
in his twentieth year, George Louis Palmella 
was set up in business on his own account in 
a chemical laboratory, under the shadow of 
the Mansion House. But business did not 
come. Two years later du Maurier p}rc 
died, leaving but small provision for his 
family. Kicky accompanied his widowed 
mother to Paris, straightway striding upon 
the true pathway of his career. He entered 
as a student at Gleyre's, a studio of which, 
with its charming companionship, all the 
world has read in "Trilby." A year later 
he went to Antwerp, working hard in the 

This is the episode in his life that furnished 
material for several chapters in "The Mar- 
tians." Here befell the great disaster minutely 
described in the novel. Drawing one day 
from a model, the sight of his left eye 
suddenly failed him, it being, Indeed, closed 
for ever. The student was long depressed 
by apprehension of total blindness. Happily 
his right eye was preserved, and with it he 
accomplished the varied delicate work turned 
out through the next forty years. A year or 
two before his death he had fresh anxiety 
about his eye, and for a while had to lay 
down his pencil. He wrote to me from 
Hampstead on the 20th of January, 1892 : — 

" Thanks awfully for Baron de Book- 
worms. " Yours ever, 

" G. du Maurier." 

A facsimile of this is given at the top of 
the next pag8 f . jgjna|fror ; 




^3 #**fc- '^W^ ^ 1 ^ 

The photographer, who du 
Maurier professed to believe 
was "a Deacon on Sundays," 
was extremely wrath. 

• € Gentlemen," he said, " I 
would have you understand 
that this is not an ordinary 
painter's studio where you 
can smoke and be otherwise 

The scene greatly tickled 

the fancy of the light-hearted 

couple. Du Maurier made 

a sketch of the pompous 

photf grapher, Whistler, and 

himself, and sent it in to 

Punch. It was accepted, 

"and from that day," du 

Maurier said, "I have never lacked bread 

and cheese. Indeed, sometimes I have found 

my bread buttered on both sides." 

In a letter, undated, probably written in 
1 89 1 or '92, du Maurier enters upon a 
subtle appreciation of his own position 
and scope as an artist, compared with 
those of I^eech. The moral is shown in 
the little sketch at the foot where I^ech 
appears as a dead lion, du Maurier repre- 
senting himself as the living donkey. 

In i860 du Mau- 
rier again set up in 
I^ondon, henceforward 
his home and work- 
shop. He had lodg- 
ings in Newman 
Street, sharing them 
with Whistler, then, 
like himself, an ob- 
scure young man 
exceed i ngly an xious 
to earn a guinea. 
He early gained a 
footing on Once a 
IVeck, for which he 
drew regularly. His 
first drawing appeared 
in Punch in i860, 
and, as he used laugh- 
ingly to say, it was 
all due to Whistler. 
One day the chums 
looked in at the studio 
of a photographer. 
Whistler was smoking 
a cigarette, and con- 
tinued to puff away 

in the very Presence. 
Vol xU.— 10. 


gT 4Ut^tAj^^ ~ +u*U*c - <4Aau**£st\^ • 


Original from 



It has been told how the man who had 
long established a reputation as an artist in 
black and white happed upon the more im- 
mediately successful, infinitely more lucra- 
tive, work of the novelist. Possibly renewed 
trouble with his eyesight crystallized intention 
in the matter. If he lost his remaining eye 
he could ho longer continue his beloved 
work in Punch, but he might, even if as 
blind as Milton, write books. His method 
of composition necessitated by the state of 
his eyesight was peculiar. He sat by the 
fireside with paper on his knee and pencil in 
hand writing rapidly, without attempt to 
follow with dim sight the formation of words 
or sentences. It was a labour of love for his 
wife or one of his daughters to make of the 
pathetically blurred MS. a fair copy for the 

He did not care much about " Trilby," 
round which the world went mad. Pro- 
bably this was in part due to resentment 
of the world's neglect of what he held to 
be the greater work, " Peter Ibbetsen." 
Therein I agreed with him, but was not 
able to follow him in nis further conviction 
that greatest of all was " The Martians." 
He often talked to me about that book 
whilst the story was growing under his 
hand. He felt he must satisfy the expec- 
tation created by the phenomenal success 
of "Trilby." To that task he set himself 
laboriously and hopefully, dying in the 
sure and certain hope that he had achieved 
his aim. I read " Trilby " whilst it was 
running in Harper's, and seem to have written 
to say how much I enjoyed its freshness and 
vigour. I find this note in reply : — 
" New Grove House, 

" Hampstead Heath, 

"June, 3, V- 

" My Dear Lucy, — Many thanks for 
your kind letter (which I shall ever value) 

about 'Trilby/ the daughter of my old age. 
I am indeed proud to think she beguiled 
your weariness instead of sending you to 
sleep — and that you are not insensible to 
'the charms of my literary style.' I hope 
she will go on pleasing you, till she departs 
this life, which she will do in the August 
number of Harpers Magazine, and that 
Mrs. Lucy will drop a tear ! With kind 
regards to you both, 

" Yours ever, 

"G. du Maurier." 

One of his vain regrets was that he had 
not hit upon his real vocation before a time 
of life when he would not have opportunity 
to work out the abundance of plots and 
fancies with which his mind was stored. 
Early in 1896, "The Martians" just out of 
hand, he told me he had in his mind the 
full plot of a fourth novel. " Too late, too 
late," he murmured, speaking rather to him- 
self than to me. The announcement of 
what proved to be his fatal illness appeared 
in the newspapers side by side with bold 
advertisement that so great was the rush for 
the number of Harper's Magazine contain- 
ing the opening chapters of "The Martians," 
that on the day after publication a second 
edition went to press. " Too late, too 
late ! " Probably one of du Maurier's 
bitterest reflections as he lay on his death- 
bed was that he was dying with nearly all 
his music in him. 

In his study at New Grove House there 
hung one of his few water-colours, a portrait 
of his friend, Canon Ainger. I think of 
another picture in which Canon Ainger last 
figured near his old friend. He stood, 
white- surpliced, reading in broken voice 
passages from the Burial Service, the sun- 
shine of an October afternoon overhead ; 
beneath, the grave in which we laid all 
that was left of the form that was Kicky's. 

by Google 

Original from 


T was away out West (said 
Doolittle), back in the seven- 
ties. We skinned the town 
Tor one hundred and thirteen 
dollars— the smartest scoop as 
ever you heard of. Doolittlc 
and Mahafferty's Mime Museum floated out 
of that combine. And now Mick's a member 
of Congress, and me — Dan Doolittle— well, 
I reckon to run the best show in Chicago. 

I was a drummer in those days, on the 
road for Phantom Skilligrew and Company, 
Kind-engine manufacturers, and they busted 
and left me high and dry in Sumpter City, 
Idaho, with a ten-dollar bill and a telegram 
to look out for another job. I tell you I felt; 
that mean I was ashamed of my own shadow 
the morning I met Mick Mahafferty fossick- 
ing round the saloons on the breezy. 

u Begorrah, Johnson ! " he cried, coming 
up to me cordial like, " 1 never dreamed for 
to meet you here ! " 

Digitized by Google 

"I'm not Johnson," 5 I answered bim. 

"Sure then," said he, "'tis Tim O'Connor. 
I was always a dunce at names, It's the 
faces 1 nivver forget/' 

"O'Connor's not my name either," said I, 
a bit riled, for I suspieioncd the fellow. 

"Arrah then, it hates me intoirely to 
remimber who it is!" and he scratched his 
head, and looked hard at me so as I couldn't 
escape him, 

"I'm Daniel Doolittlc," said I; "and if 
you want the truth, I don't know you from 
the devil." 

"Bedad I It's always a mistake I'm after 
making. Ah ! the disappointments of life ! " 
groaned Mick, heaving a sigh fit to fill a foot- 
ball; "and to think, now, if you'd been 
Johnson I could have borrowed a dollar from 
you quite asy ! " 

li Tears to me you art: not one of them 

poor sort of critters that gets lost for want of 

cheek ! n 

Original from 


7 6 


"True for you. Nivver that!" he cried, 
shaking his head as sober as a parson. 
" Tis the only gift God gave me, and I must 
not be neglecting it. I could lap a drop of 
whisky too," he added, plaintively, " if it 
wouldn't be inconveniencing you." 

"That's just what it would." 


" Yes ; till I find Johnson," said I, with a 

He gave a pleasant laugh and clapped me 
on the shoulder 

"Tis queer; mighty queer. I was de- 
ceived for oust. But you have the foine 
presence of a plutocrat, sor, wid them 
whiskers of yours ! Begorrah, and I only 
hid them darling whiskers I'd be driving a 
practice and a pair of blood horses in Dublin 
this minute, instead of wasting my substance 
in the streets of Sumpter City. It's the 
smoothness of my cheeks that's been the 
ruin of me intoirely." 

"Guess," said I, "that was the gift God 
gave you ? " 

" Ah !— the Saxon slang ! " and he turned 
his nose up. " But listen, and I'll tell you 
my story. I was bred up for a docther. 
But it's me innocent, smooth face and moild 
blue infant's eyes that's always stood in the 
way of success. Sure and I was ill-advised 
to study obstetrics, and the appearance of 
me was fatal to the sehame. So I aban- 
doned the profession and took up with play- 
acting, and away to the States, like one or 
two of me countrymen before me. But 
Shiny Kidd (he was the. manager of our 
troop, and a thayfe at that— the curse of 
Cromwell, go after him !) eloped over at 
Spokane with two weeks' salary and the 
leading lady. So the company took up a 
contract to get the harvest in for a farmer 
way down the Snake River. It didn't befit 
me dignity, after playing Othello, to be 
slaving like a negro in the fields, whereby 
there was rude remarks made. So I came 
down here, and what with rye whisky and 
poker, and a confiding timpriment, I'm 
claned out of the little I had. And now, 
sor, you know me distressful history," said 
he, " and may it be a warning to you. But 
how is it an illigant gintleman like yourself 
is seeking Mr. Johnson ? " 

There was a way with Mick Mahafferty 
enough to soften a stone flung at him, and I 
just tumbled to the fascination of it, and told 
him what troubled me and all about it. And 
then I broke my ten-dollar bill and we had a 
drink together. 

" Me friend," said he to me, after a little, 

by K: 



" I've got a sehame in my brain I'd like foine 
to give a chanst to." 

" And what may that be ? " 

"A sehame to make money." 

"Spout," said I. 

" Listen, then. There's two weak points 
underlying human nature in this cold, crool 
world. The name of the one is Charity, and 
of t'other Curiosity. Tis not charity I'd be 
appealing to at all, at all." 

" Nor me either." 

" But curiosity," said he ; " the contimpt- 
able curiosity of me fellow-craytures presents 
a fine scope for enterprise. Faith, now, 
remimber that great man Mr. Barnum-did 
you ever read his autobiography ? Sure 'tis a 
gospel for such as you and me- and, say, 
isn't it a Museum we ought to be after 

" And what will you be starting a Museum 
with, that hasn't a red cent in your pocket to 
buy a stuffed mermaid or a two-headed 

" Don't trouble at all, at all. I^ave it to 
Mick Mahafferty who's asking a partner, wid 
whiskers like your own, to give it a tone and 
take the money at the door." 

I pricked up my ears at that. "If it's 
taking money?" I insinuated. 

" Av coorse it is. It's taking money." 

"Say on," said I. 

He looked at me kinder curious like and 
asked: "Did you ever hear of a Reli- 
quorium ? " 

" A how much?" 

"A Reliquorium." 

" What's that, anyhow ? " 

"A sort of Walhalla of wonders like. 
Wholesome, homely things to timpt dacent 
folk in." 

" As how ? " 

" As relics. The relics of remarkable 
men what's dead and gone." 

" I don't take." 

" Sure then," said he, sort of shyly, " I've 
a few specimens in my pocket I've been 
after collecting. Here's a horse-shoe, for 
instance, as I picked up for luck — bad cess 
to it that brought me none. I've had the 
fancy it might have belonged to the Jook ol 
Wellington's charger, Copenhagen, at the 
Battle of Waterloo." 

" But you picked it up ? " 

" Whisht ! " he whispered. " We wouldn't 
be after letting everyone into our sacrets." 
Then he winked his eye, and Mick could put 
a whole column of intelligence into a drop of 
his eyelid. "And this rusty ould nail " 

" Well ? " 

Original from 




" There was a woman called Deborah 
said he, and broke off, screwing up 

his forehead and reflecting mighty deep — 
"but maybe the nail's not long enough for 
that. And there's Mayflower nails - but 
they're too common. I'm told there's a 
manufactory for them down to Salem, Call 
it the nail from which Pontius Pilate hanged 
himself — the 
rogue he was \ 
And mention- 
ing hanging, 
here's a bit of 
rope' 1 — he drew 
a piece about 
ten inches long 
from his pocket 
— " 'tis a pity 
it isn T t long 
enough for a 
complete halter, 
Rut it might 
have been a bit 
of one, might- 
n't it? Think, 
now, of a lady 
it would fit on 

?t It will fit on 
to your neck," 
said I, M if you 
try to gammon 
folks in this 

" Divil a bit," 
cri ed Mick. 
"It's my opinion 
Mrs. Manning, 
the murderess, 
what sent the 
wearing of black 

satin out of fashion, is the very woman ! 
Death in its violent forms always presents 
a pleasi ng di varsi on t o *t h e lad ies. Tis 
settled then — this is the very piece of rope 
that hanged poor Mrs. Manning, (lod rest 

u I wouldn't be you to tell people that." 

*' J^ave it to Mick to hold his own,"' he 
said, complacently- " See this slip of a tooth- 
pick?" he went on, taking one out from 
between his lips ; w it looks as if it might ha' 
belonged to you or me. There's tons of 
toothpicks like that, Til allow. But sup- 
posing it was found in the waistcoat pocket 
of President Abraham Lincoln the night he 
was outrageously assassinated- isn't there a 
power of American citizens would pay ten 
cents for the privilege of admoiring the 

Digitized by G< 


precious relic ? Don't tell me ! And 
pens — quill-pens; thanks be to God and 
the geese, they're asy found. One that was 
used to sign the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence, eh? And another the same what 
Poe wrote *The Raven ' with, (Did ye ever 
read * The Raven J ? A foine pome, but not 
strictly true : a pote should sing the truth or 

nothing.) And 
then there's 
Wash i ngton 
and Napoleon 
— bedad I We 
mustn't be lav- 
ing them out of 
the Reliquor- 
ium I 'There's 
an odd button 
on me coat. 
Sure no one 
could tell it 
from one of the 
(UneraFs after 
he retired from 
the cares of 
State. And 
bootlace — was 
it button or lace 
boots they wore 
in them days ? 
But Vm think- 
ing there's few 
here in Sumpter 
City could tell. 
And an ould 
bootlace isn't 
far to fetch. 
Steady a bit ! 
Sure me luck 
is turning, for 
here's a round pebble come to hand in the 
nick of time " (he had kicked it with his foot 
as we were walking along). " From Palestine, 
in the country of the Philistines. I wouldn't 
go for to declare it was the identical pebble 
David killed the giant Goliath wid— but from 
the same locality, d'ye mind? It illustrates the 
nature of the peculiar pebbles of Palestine, and 
helps the pious mind to form a plasing 
picture of the same. Be jaybers ! " he cried, 
joyfully, "give me a couple of hours, and I 
could provide an illigant Reliquorium that 
anyone would pay ten cents to look at, and 
not grudge it," 

Well, sir (said Doolittle), that was about 

the size of Micky Mahafferty's little 

"schame" for making money, and, although 

it may seem, cussed foolishness to you, he 

Original from 



7 8 


bunkumed me into joining him with my 
ten dollars. 

We hired an empty store, borrowed some 
shelves and tables and an old curtain or two, 
and Mick just invented the relics as fast as 
1 could write their descriptions on the tickets. 
There was a matter of two hundred, most 
everything you could hanker to see, from 
the jawbone of Samson's ass to a hairpin 
used by Queen Victoria. It made an on- 
common fine show, niore'n you'd credit 
unless you'd paid to go in. 

I allow I felt kinder proud when it was all 
ready, and Mick said to me, " Remimber, 
honey , you're the Boss. Professor Doolittle, 
of Boston, Massachusetts. And Tm the 
hired boy that goes round to see that the 
folks stale nothing. And the name of the 
trate is the Royal Reliquorium— ten cents 

We bought five yards of calico, and 
painted the name on hig, and fixed it up on 
two poles outside the door ; and then Mick 
and I took up our 
stations and began to 
halloa :— 

" Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! 
This way, ladies and 
gents, to the Royal 
Reliquorium ! Hi ! 
Hi ! Hi ! n 

Then Mick began 
his patter 

"Free to i very body ! 
Free to i very body ! 
And only ten cents 
a head and a trate 
at that ! Yes, sor 
that's right. Ten 
cents for your head, 
where your eyes are, 
that's going to be 
opened ; and nothing 
for your body, what's 
allowed to enter free* 
Free to i very body. 
Step in and see the 
wonders. Nivver was 
their aqual collected 
before, and nivver will 
ye have the chanst 
again. The only true, 
original, genuine, and 
certificated relics of 

the most remarkable men and women of all 
the countries in the world, Sure there's a 
bit of the holy whalebone from the fish that 
swallowed Jonah. And there's the very pipe 
that John Brown smoked at Harper's Ferry* 

Digitized by G* 

And there's the stockings of Julius Csesar 
when he first set fut in England. And 
the pocket - handkerchee of Stonewall 
Jackson, which he blew his nose wid on 
the battlefield of Victory, And there's 
a lock of Queen Elizabeth's hair faith, 
now, lis the same illigant colour as me own ! 
And there's a bit of the walking-stick of 
George III,, that he shook when they told 
him to drop the tay-tax. And the blessed 
toothpick of President Abraham Lincoln, 
with the nibble of his teeth upon it ! What 
more will you be wanting? And yet ? ris 
only a taste of the trate I'm prating. Seeing's 
believing, so pay your dime and take your 
time, and step up and swim in the sea of 
sights that's here in the Royal Reliquorium." 

By the time he had trotted that lot out 
there were quite a few citizens collected ; and 
first one pulls out his bit, and then another, 
and then a third, and after that it was like a 
flock of sheep, and we had the show humming 
lively as a hive of bees. 


As soon us Mirk jjol 'cm inside he took 
'em in hand, and marshalled them and away 
round, pattering for all he was worth. I 
never knew a man to answer questions like 
him. You'd almost think he'd contrived J em 
Original from 




himself. I could hear the folk laughing, 
same as at the clown in a circus. And when 
he bowed 'em out there was a grin on their 
faces as 'ud do a sorry man more good than 
whisky neat. 

Well ! Such is human nature, the thing 
caught on like a joke. Seeing as how they'd 
been skinned and sold, those that had paid 
wanted for others to be gammoned as well, 
so that the laugh shouldn't be confined to 

" Send your friends to help a poor orphan," 
said Mick, tipping 'em a wink ; " I'm dry with 
spaking, and it's only a small commission the 
Professor allows me. And sure 'tis comfort- 
ing to have fellows in misfortune when the 
laugh's against you." 

That did it, and never a word did they let 
on, but just told all their fellow-citizens 
there was the alfiredest show up-town, what 
no one should miss. And in less than half 
an hour we had the room full and people 
fighting to get in. 

" Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! This way, ladies and 
gents," I kept halloaing. " This way for the 
Royal Reliquorium. Don't lose the chanst. 
Pay your dime and squeeze in while there's 
standing room. Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! " 

A few of the folks took it serious, but 
most of 'em otherwise. Those as took it 
serious said it was just the remarkablest 
collection of curiosities they'd ever seen ; 
and those that took it otherwise said the 
same. So both parties was satisfied, and 
likewise Mick and me. Only, I'd no time 
to express my opinion, being too busy raking 
in the dollars. 

I guess we might ha' run that show three 
days with a change of bill, only fer a derned 
blacksmith what hadn't any sense of humour. 
He came in about six o'clock, when Mick 
was starting for about the twentieth time to 
speak his piece, which he'd come to reel it 
off like a lecturer. The blacksmith shoved 
his way to the front, and as bad luck would 
have it, 'twere the hoss-shoe Mickey was 
on to. 

" This here horse-shoe," said he, p'inting 
to it with a broom-handle, " belonged to the 
Jook of Wellington's famous charger, Copen- 
hagen, what carried him through the Battle 
of Waterloo on the day that decided the 
destinies of Europe. Conceive what might 
have happened now if Copenhagen had cast 
that shoe and gone lame. Faith, Europe 
might be trembling under the heel of the 
Corsican Usurper at this moment ! Picture 
to your mind's eye the mad flight of this 
historical relic over the ground that was 

strewed with the corpses of soldiers, thick as 
thaves ! " 

The blacksmith picked up the shoe and 
began to examine it kinder curiously. Then 
he asked : — 

"I reckon you allowed this shoe was at 
the Battle of Waterloo ? " 

"I did, me friend. It was on the near 
hind hoof of the Jook's charger, Copen- 

41 Git," snorted the blacksmith, " it's a 

" Well, sor, and if it is, it's an unintentional 
one. It might ha* been the front fut 

" Scut ! " cried the blacksmith, and turning 
to the audience, " See here," said he, " I made 
this shoe myself ! " 

" Be jaybers and ye did ? " cried Mick, as 
quick as lightning. " Glory ! Glory ! Listen 
to his sacred tistimony ! It clane bates 
everything ! Only to think you should be 
alive and well, darling, all this time, and here 
to give your evidence. By me soul there's 
not a relic in the Royal Reliquorium to aqual 
yourself, sor. See here, I'll give you a dollar 
to stand on a stool and be admired for the 
farrier what shod the Great Jook's charger for 
the Battle of Waterloo ! " 

At this the folks began to roar with 
laughter, and I thought it was going to blow 
over pleasant. But the blacksmith lost his 
temper, and shouted out it was all a swindle 
and he intended to have his money back. 

" A swindle ! " cried Mick, firing up 
mighty indignant. " Is it insulting honest 
folk you'd be after ? " 

"Gimme back my dime, dern ye ! " 

"Sor, I demand an apology," said Mick, 
very dignified. 

" Git, ye gutter-snipe ! Gimme back my 
money or I'll bust your show ! " 

" Phwat ! You tormenting blackguard, 
calling me names like that ! Me that offered 
ye a dollar for the lie ye told ! " 

" A lie, ye say ? Then take that ! " roared 
the blacksmith, and hurled the hoss shoe at 
Mick, and followed it with the immortal 
Shakespeare's inkpot and the hub of one of 
Pharaoh's chariot-wheels. 

"Hands off, ye tasing vandal," screamed 
Mick, like a wild Injun. "Them's untold 
treasures you're making free wid ! Avic ! 
Avic ! Help me to save 'em ! Here, Pro- 
fessor ! Professor, dear ! In wid ye quick ! 
The show's lifting ! " 

I rushed in, but was too late. Just as I 
opened the door poor Mick got Christopher 
Columbus's hair-brush slap in the stomach, 

by LiOOgle 

_- 1 l •„! 1 1 l '.I l \\\ 




and lie kinder lost his head over the shock 
of it ; and in another second the two of 
them were pelting each other with the relics, 
as if they was stones ; and the crowd laugh- 
ing T and clapping, and stamping their feet, 
and shoving 'em on same as at a street fight. 

and it's time for tay." And with that he 
vamoosed to the rear 

" Are you the Boss of this show? " asked 
the blacksmith, lumping up to me like a 

ik Not me/' said I, prompt as ready money* 


"Take thai, ye heathen!" cried Mick, 
as he banged the blacksmith over the head 
with a half-charred fagot what had been 
used at the burning of Joan of Arc. 

The blacksmith gave a howl of rage. 
" And you that ! " he retorted, and up with 
a bucket of holy water from the River Jordan 
and emptied it over Mick's head. 

"Ye spalpeen," spluttered Mick. "It's 
Oliver Cromwell's own boots I'll brain ye 
wid, as isn't fit to black 'cm/' and let drive 
with an old pair of elastic sides he'd raked 
out of a dust-heap. 

Thereupon the blacksmith collared hold 
of the jawbone of Samson's ass, and closed 
with Mick, asking him what it felt to be like 
a Philistine ! 

Poor Mickey was getting the worst of it, 
when I got in between and parted em* 

"The saints be praised. Trs the Professor 
himself," he panted. " Let me introjooce 
you to him, sor 'Tis he can answer all your 
hard questions. Me head aches with talking. 

"It be longs to Phantom Skilligrew and 
Company, wind engine manufacturers." 

" I guess it du," said the blacksmith, and 
with that he set deliberate to work and 
pelted me and Mick right out oft he premises 
with most everything you could fancy, from 
the lost rib of Adam to a chunk off the 
North Pole. And the way the people 
laughed, as they saw it sort of raining relics 
upon us wal, it were ongenerous. 

Yes, sir (said Doolittle), that kinder closed 
the show, ? Twas-an " Imposing Ceremony," 
as Mick called it but then he also called 
the show " imposing/' Put we had a hundred 
and thirteen dollars out of it and a smart 
notion, Mick and me ran Reliquoriums in 
all the cities out West for the nest three 
years, until we saved enough to buy a steam 
organ and a merry-go- round. And after 

that but here's Minneapolis, and I guess 

I've got to change cars. Don't forget Doo- 
little and Mahafferty J s Dime Museum next 
time you're down to ( Chicago. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Curious Electrical Display, 

By Harold J. Shepstone. 

CURIOUS and ingenious 
method of entertaining the 
public by the aid of electricity 
has certainly been introduced 
by Mr. George W. Patterson, 
of Chicago. This gentleman 
has devised a means of swinging electrically- 
lighted Indian clubs in such a way as to 
produce startling, yet beautiful, spectacular 
effects* Although this kind of electrical 
display with Indian clubs is entirely new so 
far as the public is concerned, Mr, Patterson 
has given much time and thought to the 
subject, and his entertainments have not 
reached their present high degree of excellence 
and novelty without a great deal of patient 
study of that vast and marvellous subject 
which we call electricity. 

Until very recently Mr. Patterson used to 
give displays with Indian clubs to which 
flaming torches were at Lac bed- It was the 
success which attended these entertainments 
that led him to devise a means for obtaining 
a more elaborate and effective display. The 
only thing which could possibly help him to 
obtain this end was elec- 
tricity, and that he has 
succeeded in his endea- 
vours is well evidenced from 
our set of unique photo- 
graphs, which illustrate 
some of his pretty specta- 
cular effects. 

In our first photograph 
we are introduced to Mr. 
Patterson arid all the para- 
phernalia necessary to an 
entertainment, One of the 
greatest difficulties which 
this electrical entertainer 
has had to face was the 
securing of a portable bat- 
tery of high voltage and light 
weight. For some time past 
Mr Patterson has been 
unable to give his perform- 
ances except in halls and 
houses wired for electrical 
illumination ; now, how- 
ever, this drawback has 
been overcome) and Mr, 
Patterson can amuse the 
public with his electrical 
illuminations in any hall or 
theatre, and also give exhibi- 
tions of his skill in private *™, *., 

Vol. *ix, — Tt 

houses and other places. This has been 
rendered easy of accomplishment by a 
storage battery which he has himself designed 
and built This battery, which has evoked 
much comment from eminent electricians, 
who have been struck with its wonderful 
powers, is seen in our photograph. It weighs 
351b., has thirty-two volts normal, and a 
capacity of ten amperes at about twenty-five 
volts. It is of such convenient size that it 
can be easily carried by one person. 

If one looks carefully into our view, they 
will detect the small electric lamps which 
decorate the Indian clubs, These clubs are 
made in two parts, the split being length- 
wise. A flexible cable of five wires leads 
into the club handles through a rubber tube, 
the wiring being cleverly concealed. Three 
series of eight three -can die-power miniature 
lamps are set in small, specially turned brass 
sockets, the length of the club, so the lamps 
stand out at right angles to its surface. As 
the little globes are coloured, no fewer than 
six series of different colours are obtained 
when the current is turned on. 






To give a display the room is darkened, of 
course, and Mr. Patterson, taking his stand 
in front of the audience, turns on the cur runt 
and swings the clubs with the most wonderful 
results, In the next photograph, which is 
one of a series of Mr, Patterson's numerous 
11 figures/' we notice two distinct " O's," with 
a very thick outer circle or ring. This larger 
circle is produced by a thirty- 
two candle-power, fifty volt 
lamp which is usually run on 
iro volts, fixed to the tip or 
each club. Some idea of the 
power of these two lights, 
which are necessary to make 
the figures, may be gauged 
from the fact that they are 
too dazzling for the naked 
eye when lighted and station- 
ary, and are so powerful that 
they are capable of illuminat- 
ing an entire church or 
public hall of average size. 
The smaller circles of light 
shown in our illustration are 
the reflections of the minia- 
ture lamps on the body of 
the clubs. 

In addition to this pair 
of electrically-lighted clubs, 
Mr, Patterson also uses 
fancy ones in his displays, 
made of black wood and 


ornamented with strips of 
silver. Another pair, which 
may be detected in our first 
photograph, are those 
designed to represent the 
American flag. Each of these 
latter contains a music box. 
The torch clubs Mr. Patter- 
son made himself. They are 
of regular shape, with long 
handles, painted with pega- 
moid or aluminium paint, 
giving them the appearance 
of silver. At the ends are 
fixed wire screens of spheri- 
cal shape, filled with 
asbestos fibre, which is satu- 
rated with gasoline before 
using. These make brilliant 
effects in the dark, ami will 
burn nicely for about five 
minutes. Mr. Patterson 
claims that they are the only 
pair of the kind in the world, 
and are entirely safe, 
whereas the ordinary torch 
club is not, as cotton is used instead ofasbestus. 
In some of the halls and concert-rooms of 
Chicago where he has given performances, Mr, 
Patterson has swung his clubs before a conical 
mirror reflector, which acted as a powerful 
footlight, and also threw upon the wall behind 
him the shadow of a giant club-swinger. 
A pretty design produced by lighted clubs 

[ Phi>tt}fffti)>tL 

* |,RB OKiW¥9f fl irMterapk. 




Ffiifn ftj 


in a darkened hall is seen in our third 
photograph, The clubs are always swung to 
music, so that the effect to the audience is 
still more pleasing. The patterns or figures 
which in ay be obtained by the swinging of 
the clubs are almost infinite in variety. The 
lights on the club? are 
under the control of an 
operator behind the scenes 
who turns on and off the 
lights of both clubs by 
means of a switchboard, 

Mr, Patterson is a recog- 
nised expert in the swing- 
ing of Indian clubs, which 
we can well believe after 
glancing at the iHustrations 
which accompany this 
article. He is thoroughly 
at home with a pair of 
these wooden implements 
hovering around his head, 
and makes a novel picture 
as the large yet graceful 
.circles of light flash all 
round him* In order to 
produce such a charming 
picture as seen in our next 
photograph, the clubs, of 
course, have to be swung 
fairly rapidly- Indeed, it 
would be impossible to 
obtain so many circles with 
one pair of clubs unless 

Digitized by^OC 

they are swung quickly, while 
the grace and style of the 
whole effect speak volumes 
for Mr. Patterson's ability as 
a club-swinger. His club- 
swinging has rightly been 
termed "poetry in motion.""' 

Our photographs, it may 
be added, were taken while 
Mr. Patterson was swinging 
his clubs at ordinary speed, 
by the light of the incan- 
descent lamps studded on 
the clubs* The time of the 
exposure was from five to ten 
seconds. Great credit is un- 
doubtedly due to the photo- 
grapher who has furnished us 
with practically exact minia- 
ture facsimiles of the various 
displays. The only thing we 
can complain of is that we 
are not treated to the 
numerous other electrical 
features which go to make 
up an ordinary performance* There is the 
telephone, for instance, with megaphone 
attachment, through which Mr. Patterson 
sings from a distant room. 

Then there is also the electrical storm, 
which lacks nothing but buckets of water to 







From dj 


make it complete. The storm begins with 
distant heat lightning, simulated by well- 
distributed (Teissier tubes, gradually increas- 
ing to the fiercest of chain or "zig-zag" 
lightning, with corresponding gradation of 
thunder, the latter being produced in the 
usual manner by a H thunder-sheet " of iron. 
The nearer lightning is produced by the 
direct arching of carbons in Mr. Patterson's 
hands. The arc is struck in a small box 
from which the light is thrown by a lens 
through a cardboard disc having lightning 
forms cut into it. The disc can be revolved 
to any form and the light flashed out in any 
direction. The effect, as may be imagined, 
is very startling, especially as it is accom- 
panied by the fiercest thunder, and a sound of 
clashing rain, the latter being produced by 
skilfully manipulating a circular vessel into 
which peas are constantly poured. 

To add to the terrors of the scene Mr. 
Patterson laughingly sings "The Lightning 
King " through the megaphone, the horn of 

which is so prominently 
seen on the table in our 
first illustration. As the 
storm abates the more cheer- 
ful tune of "Anchored" is 
heard through the disturbed 
elements. No sooner is 
quietude restored than a 
perfect double rainbow 
gradually appears across the 
hall,, and is dissolved by a 
water rheostat by sending the 
rays of a single-loop filament 
incandescent lamp through 
a prism. The colours come 
out beautifully; when at 
their brightest the lamp is 
run greatly over voltage. By 
turning the lamp slightly, so 
that the filament is not in 
direct line with the prism, 
lights from two points strike 
the prism, producing two 
rainbows, as sometimes seen 
in the sky- This part of the 
performance is greatly appre- 
ciated by the audience, so 
realistic are all the details of 
a thunderstorm carried out 
However novel thunderstorms made to 
order may sound, Mr, Patterson is not yet 
fully satisfied that he has reached the limit 
of his powers as an electrical entertainer, and 
has great hopes of producing more startling 
novelties before very long. In addition to 
the thunderstorm there are other curious and 
ingenious electrical displays, which it would 
be impossible to describe here, 

One of his great plans is to produce ozone 
electrically, and blow it gently among his 
audience by means of electric fans, With 
the aid of an atomizer and apple blossom 
perfume he believes he can reproduce the 
genuine air of a country orchard. Should 
this new wizard of electricity ever come to 
London and give exhibitions of his wonderful 
skill as a conjuring electrician, those who 
long for a breath of country air need only go 
to one of Mr, Patterson's performances, close 
his eyes, and imagine beautiful blossoms and 
graceful trees, as he drinks in the sweet 
perfume of a distant country orchard. 


by Google 

Original from 

Hilda Wade. 

By Grant Allen. 

FTER our fortunate escape 
from the clutches of our too- 
admiring Tibetan hosts, we 
wound our way slowly back 
through the Maharajah's terri- 
tory towards Sir Ivor's head- 
quarters. On the third day out from the 
lamasery we camped in a romantic Himalayan 
valley — a narrow, green glen, with a brawling 
stream running in white cataracts and rapids 
down its midst. We were able to breathe 
freely now : we could enjoy the great taper- 
ing deodars that rose in ranks on the 
hillsides, the snow-clad needles of ramping 
rock that bounded the view to north and 
south, the feathery bamboo-jungle that fringed 
and half-obscured the mountain torrent, 
whose cool music — alas, fallaciously cool — 
was borne to us through the dense screen 
of waving foliage. Lady Meadowcroft was 
so delighted at having got clear away 
from those murderous and saintly Tibetans 
that for a while she almost forgot to 
grumble. She even condescended to 
admire the deep-cleft ravine in which we 
bivouacked for the night, and to admit that 
the orchids which hung from the tall trees 
were as fine as any at her florist's in Picca- 
dilly. " Though how they can have got them 
out here already, in this outlandish place — 
the most fashionable kinds — when we in 
England have to grow them with such car6 in 
expensive hot-houses," she said, "really 
passes my comprehension." 

She seemed to think that orchids originated 
in Covent Garden. 

Early next morning I was engaged with 
one of my native men in lighting the fire to 
boil our kettle — for in spite of all misfortunes 
we still made tea with creditable punctuality 
— when a tall and good-looking Nepaulese 
approached us from the hills, with cat-like 
tread, and stood before me in an attitude of 
profound supplication. He was a well-dressed 
young man, like a superior native servant : 
his face was broad and flat, but kindly and 
good-humoured. He salaamed many times, 
but still said nothing. 

" Ask him what he wants," I cried, turning 
to our fair-weather friend, the cook. 

The deferential Nepaulese did not wait to 
be asked. " Salaam, sahib," he said, bowing 
again very low till his forehead almost 
touched the ground. "You are Eulopean 
doctor, sahib?" 

" I am," I answered, taken aback at being 
thus recognised in the forests of Nepaul. 
"But how in wonder did you come to know 

" Vou camp near here when you pass dis 
way before, and you doctor little native girl, 
who got sore eyes. All de country here tell 
you is very great physician. So I come and 
to see if you will turn aside to my village to 
help us." 

"Where did you learn English?" I ex- 
claimed, more and more astonished. 

" I is servant one time at British Lesident's 
at de Maharajah's city. Pick up English 
dere. Also pick up plenty lupee. Velly 
good business at British Lesident's. Now 
gone back home to my own village, letired 
gentleman." And he drew himself up with 
conscious dignity. 

I surveyed the retired gentleman from 
head to foot. He had an air of distinction, 
which not even his bare toes could altogether 
mar. He was evidently a person of local 
importance. "And what did you want me 
to visit your village for?" I inquired, 

" White traveller sahib ill dere, sir. Vely 
ill : got plague. Great first-class sahib, all 
same like Governor. Ill fit to die : send me 
out all times to try find Eulopean doctor." 

"Plague?" I repeated, startled. He 

" Yes, plague : all same like dem hab him 
so bad down Bombay way." 

" Do you know his name ? " I asked ; for 
though one does not like to desert a fellow- 
creature in distress, I did not care to turn 
aside from my road on such an errand, with 
Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft, unless for 
some amply sufficient reason. 

The retired gentleman shook his head in 




the most emphatic fashion, "How me 
know ? " he answered, opening the palms of 
his hands as if to show he had nothing con- 
cealed in them. " Forget Eulopean name all 
times so easily. And traveller sahib name 
very hard to lemember. Not got English 
name. Him Eulopean foleigner." 

" A European foreigner ! " I repeated. 
" And you say he is seriously ill ? Plague is 
no trifle. Well, wait a minute : I'll see what 
the ladies say about it. How far off is your 
village?" -. ■ 

He pointed with his hand, somewhat 
vaguely, to the hillside. " Two hours' walk," 
he answered, with the motfntaineer's habit of 
reckoning distance by time, which extends, 
under the like circumstances, the whole 
world over. 

I went back to the tents, and consulted 
Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. Our spoilt 
child pouted, and was utterly averse to any 
detour of any sort. " Let's get back straight 
to Ivor," she said, petulantly. "I've had 
enough of camping out. It's all very well in 
its way for a week : but when they begin to 
talk about cutting your throat and all that, it 
ceases to be a joke and becomes a wee bit 
uncomfortable. I want my feather bed. I 
object to their villages." 

" But consider, dear," Hilda said, gently. 
" This traveller is ill, all alone in a strange 
land. How can Hubert desert him ? It is 
a doctor's duty to do what he can to alle- 
viate pain and to cure the sick. What would 
we have thought ourselves, when we were 
at the lamasery, if a body of European 
travellers had known we were there, im- 
prisoned and in danger of our lives, and had 
passed by on the other side without 
attempting to rescue us ? " 

Lady Meadowcroft knit her forehead. 
" That was Us," she said, with an impatient 
nod, after a pause — "and this is another 
person. You can't turn aside for everybody 
who's ill in all Nepaul. And plague, too ! — 
so horrid ! Besides, how do we know this 
isn't another plant of these hateful people to 
lead us into danger ? " 

" Lady Meadowcroft is quite right," I said, 
hastily. " I never thought about that. 
There may be no plague, no patient at all. I 
will go up with this man alone, Hilda, and find 
out the truth. It will only take me five hours 
at most. By noon I shall be back with you." 

" What ? And leave us here unprotected 
among the wild beasts and the savages ? " 
Lady Meadowcroft cried, horrified. " In 
the midst of the forest ! Dr. Cumberledge, 
how can you ? " 

"You are not unprotected," I answered, 
soothing her. "You have Hilda with you. 
She is worth ten men. And besides, our 
Nepaulese are fairly trustworthy." 

Hilda bore me out in my resolve. She 
was too much of a nurse, and had imbibed 
too much of the true medical sentiment, to 
let me desert a man in peril of his life 
among tropical jungle. So, in spite of Lady 
Meadowcroft, I was soon winding my way 
up a steep mountain track, overgrown with 
creeping Indian weeds, on my road to the 
still problematical village graced by the 
residence of the retired gentleman. 

After two hours' hard climbing we reached 
it at last. The retired gentleman led the 
way to a house in a street of the little 
wooden hamlet. The door was low : I had 
to stoop to enter it. I saw in a moment this 
was indeed no trick. On a native bed, in a 
corner of the one room, a man lay desperately 
ill : a European, with white hair and with a 
skin well bronzed by exposure to the tropics. 
Ominous dark spots beneath the epidermis 
showed the nature of the disease. He tossed 
restlessly as he lay, but did /not raise his 
fevered head or look at my conductor. 
" Well, any news of Ram Das ? " he asked 
at last, in a parched and feeble voice. 
Parched and feeble as it was, I recognised 
it instantly. The man on the bed was 
Sebastian — no other ! 

" No, no news of Lam Das," the retired 
gentleman replied, with an unexpected dis- 
play of womanly tenderness. "Lam Das 
clean gone : not come any more. But I 
bling you back Eulopean doctor, sahib." 

Sebastian did not look up from his bed 
even then. I could see he was more anxious 
about a message from his scout than about 
his own condition. " The rascal ! " he 
moaned, with his eyes closed tight. "The 
rascal ! he has betrayed me." And he 
tossed uneasily. 

I looked at him and said nothing. Then 
I seated myself on a low stool by the bedside 
and took his hand in mine to feel his pulse. 
The wrist was thin and wasted. The face, 
too, I noticed, had fallen away greatly. It 
was clear that the malignant fever which 
accompanies the disease had wreaked its 
worst on him. So weak and ill was he, 
indeed, that he let me hold his hand, with 
my fingers on his pulse, for half a minute or 
more without ever opening his eyes or 
displaying the slightest curiosity at my 
presence. One might have thought that 
European doctors abounded in Nepaul, and 
that I had o<;en attending him for a 



week,' with m the mixture as before n at 
every visit, 

"Your pulse is weak and very rapid," I 
said, slowly, in a professional tone. " You 
seem to me to have fallen into a perilous 

At the sound of my voice he gave a 
sudden start. Yet even so, for a second, he 
did not open his eyes. The revelation of 
my presence seemed to come upon him as in 
a dream. " Like Cumberledge's," he muttered 
to himself, gasping* " Exactly like Cumber- 
ledges. . . > But Cumberlcdge is dead * * > 
I must be delirious, ... If I didn't know to 
the contrary, 1 could have sworn it was 
Cumberledge's ! " 

I spoke again, bending over him, " How 
long have the glandular swellings been 

he had seen all your tnroats cut in Tibet 
He alone had escaped, The Buddhists had 
massacred you/' 

" He told you a lie," I said, shortly, 
" 1 thought so. I thought so. And I 
sent him hack for confirmatory evidence. 
But the rogue has never brought it." He let 
his head drop on his rude pillow heavily. 
w Never, never brought it ! " 

I gazed at him, full of horror : the man was 
too ill to hear me, too ill to reason, too ill to 
recognise the meaning of his own words, 
almost. Otherwise, perhaps, he would hardly 
have expressed himself quite so frankly. 
Though to be sure he had said nothing to 
criminate himself in any way : his action 
might have been due to anxiety for our 


present, Professor?" I asked, with quiet 
del i be rat i ven ess, 

This time he opened his eyes sharply, and 
looked up in my face. He swallowed a great 
gulp of surprise. His breath came and went. 
He raised himself on his elbows and stared 
it me with a fixed stare. " Cumberlcdge ! " 
ne cried: " Cumber] edge ! Come back to 
life* then ! They told me you were dead I 
And here you are, Cumber ledge ! " 

" Who told you I was dead?" I asked, 

He stared at me, still in a dazed way. He 
was more than half comatose, " Your guide, 
Ram Das," he answered at last, half in- 
coherently. " He came back by himself. 
Came back, without you. He swore to me 

*"— » 

I fixed my glance on him long ana 
dubiously. What ought I to do next ? As 
for Sebastian, he lay with his eyes closed, 
half oblivious of my presence. The fever had 
gripped him hard. He shivered, and looked 
helpless as a child. In such circumstances, 
the instincts of my profession rose imperative 
within me. I could not nurse a case properly 
in this wretched hut. The one thing to be 
done was to cany the patient down to our 
camp in the valley. There, at least, we had 
air and pure running water, 

I asked a few questions from the retired 
gentleman as to the possibility of obtaining 
sufficient bearers in the village, As I sup- 
posed, any number were forthcoming imme- 
diately, OftginaN^padese is by nature a 




beast of burden : he can carry anything up 
and down the mountains, and spends his life 
in the act of carrying. 

I pulled out my pencil, tore a leaf from 
my note-book, and scribbled a hasty note 
to Hilda : " The invalid is — whom do you 
think ? — Sebastian ! He is dangerously ill 
with some malignant fever: I am bringing 
him down into camp to nurse: get everything 
ready for him." Then I handed it over 
to a messenger, found for me by the retired 
gentleman, to carry to Hilda. My host 
himself I could not spare, as 
he was my only interpreter, 

In a couple of hours we 
had improvised a rough, woven 
grass hammock as an ambu- 
lance couch, had engaged our 
bearers, and had got Sebastian 
under way for the camp by 
the river. 

When I arrived at our tents 
I found Hilda had prepared 
everything for our patient with 
her usual cleverness. Not 
only had she got a bed ready 
for Sebastian, who was now 
almost insensible, but she had 
even cooked some arrowroot 
from our stores beforehand, 
so that he might have a little 
food, with a dash of brandy 
in it, to recover him after 
the fatigue of the journey 
down the mountain. By the 
time we had laid him out on 
a mattress in a cool tent, 
with the fresh air blowing 
about him, and had made 
him eat the meal prepared 
for him, he really began 
to look comparatively com- 

Lady Meadowcroft was now 
our chief trouble : we did 
not dare to tell her it was really plague ; 
but she had got near enough back to 
civilization to have recovered her faculty 
for profuse grumbling ; and the idea of 
the delay that Sebastian would cause us 
drove her wild with annoyance* ** Only two 
days off from Ivor," she cried, "and that 
comfortable bungalow ! And now to think we 
must stop here hi the woods a week or ten 
days for this horrid old Professor ! Why 
can't he get worse at once and die like a 
gentleman? But, there ! with yon to nurse 
him, Hilda, he'll never get worse \ he couldn't 
die if he tried : he'll linger on and ort for 

weeks and weeks through a beastly con- 
valescence ! n 

11 Hubert, 11 Hilda said to me, when we 
were alone once more, " we mustn't keep 
her here. She will be a hindrance, not a 
help. One way or another, we must manage 
to get rid of her." 

" How can we ? " I asked. ** We can't 
turn her loose upon the mountain roads with 
a Nepaulese escort. She isn't fit for it. 
She would be frantic with terror," 

" IVe thought of that, and I see only one 


thing possible, I must go on w ? ith her 
myself as fast as we can push to Sir Ivor's 
place, and then return to help you nurse 
the Professor." 

I saw she was right : it was the sole plan 
open to us. And I had no fear of letting 
Hilda go off alone with Lady Meadowcroft 
and the bearers. She was a host in herself, 
and could manage a party of native servants 
at least as well as I could. 

So Hilda went, and came back again : 
meanwhile, I took charge of the nursing of 
Sebastian. Fortunately, I had brought with 
me a good stdttbirarfl jungle-medicines in my 




little travelling case, including plenty of 
quinine ; and under my careful treatment 
the Professor passed the crisis and began to 
mend slowly. The first question he asked 
me when he felt himself able to talk once 
more was, " Nurse Wade — what has become 
of her ? " — for he had not yet seen her. I 
feared the shock for him. 

" She is here with me," I answered, in a 
very measured voice. " She is waiting to be 
allowed to come and help me in taking care 
of you." 

He shuddered and turned away. His 
face buried itself in the pillow. I could see 
some twinge of remorse had seized upon 
him. At last he spoke. "Cumberledge," 
he said, in a very low and almost frightened 
tone, " don't let her come near me ! I can't 
bear it : I can't bear it." 

Ill as he was, I did not mean to let him 
think I was ignorant of his motive. "You 
can't bear a woman, whose life you have 
attempted," I said, in my coldest and most 
deliberate way, " to have a hand in nursing 
you. You can't bear to let her heap coals 
of fire on your head. In that, you are right 
But, remember, you have attempted my life 
too ; you have twice done your best to get 
me murdered." 

He did not pretend to deny it. He was 
too weak for subterfuges. He only writhed 
as he lay. "You are a man," he said, shortly, 
"and she is a woman. That is all the differ- 
ence." Then he paused for a minute or two. 
" Don't let her come near me," he moaned 
once more, in a piteous voice : " don't let her 
come near me!" 

"I will not," I answered. " She shall not 
come near you. I spare you that. But you 
will have to eat the food she prepares : and 
you know she will not poison you. You will 
have to be tended by the servants she 
chooses : and you know they will not murder 
you. She can heap coals of fire on your 
head without coming into your tent. Consider 
that you sought to take her life — and she 
seeks to save yours ! She is as anxious to 
keep you alive as you are anxious to kill 

He lay as in a reverie. His long, white 
hair made his clear-cut, thin face look more 
unearthly than ever, with the hectic flush of 
fever upon it. At last he turned to me. 
u We each work for our own ends," he said, 
in a weary way. " We pursue our own 
objects. It suits me to get rid of her ; it suits 
her to keep me alive. I am no good to her 
dead ; living, she expects to wring a confes- 
sion out of me. But she shall not have it. 


Digitized by V^iOOQ IC 

Tenacity of purpose is the one thing I admire 
in life. She has the tenacity of purpose — 
and so have I. Cumberledge, don't you see 
it is a mere duel of endurance between us ? " 

" And may the just side win," I answered, 

It was several days later before h6 spoke 
to me of it again. Hilda had brought some 
food to the door of the tent and passed it 
in to me for our patient. " How is he 
now?" she whispered. 

Sebastian overheard her voice, and, cower- 
ing within himself, still managed to answer : 
" Better, getting better. I shall soon be well 
now. You have carried your point. You 
have cured your enemy." 

"Thank God for that ! " Hilda said, and 
glided away silently. 

Sebastian ate his cup of arrowroot in 
silence ; then he looked at me with 
wistful, musing eyes. "Cumberledge," he 
murmured at last, " after all, I can't help 
admiring that woman. She is the only person 
who has ever checkmated me. She check- 
mates me every time. Steadfastness is what 
I love. Her steadfastness of purpose and 
her determination move me." 

" I wish they would move you to tell the 
truth," I answered. 

He mused again. " To tell the truth ! " 
he muttered, moving his head up and down. 
" I have lived for science : shall I wreck all 
now? There are truths which it is better to 
hide than to proclaim. Uncomfortable truths 
— truths that never should have been — truths 
which help to make greater truths incredible. 
But all the same, I cannot help admiring that 
woman. She has Yorke-Bannerman's intellect, 
with a great deal more than Yorke-Banner- 
man's force of will. Such firmness ! such 
energy ! such resolute patience ! She is a 
wonderful creature. I can't help admiring 
her ! " 

I said no more to him just then. I thought 
it better to let nascent remorse and nascent 
admiration work out their own natural effects 
unimpeded. For I could see our enemy was 
beginning to feel some sting of remorse. 
Some men are below it : Sebastian thought 
himself above it : I felt sure he was mistaken. 

Yet even in the midst of these personal 
preoccupations I saw that our great teacher 
was still, as ever, the pure man of science. 
He noted every symptom and every change 
of the disease with professional accuracy. 
He observed his own case, whenever his 
mind was clear enough, as impartially as he 
would have observed any outside patient's. 
"This is a rare chance, Cumberledge," he 




whispered to me once, in an interval of 
delirium. " So few Europeans have ever had 
the complaint, and probably none who were 
competent to describe the specific subjec- 
tive and psychological symptoms. The 
delusions one gets, as one sinks into the 
coma, for example, are of quite a peculiar type 
— delusions of wealth and of absolute 
power, most exhilarating and magnificent. 
I think myself a millionaire or a Prime 
Minister. Be sure you make a note of that 
—in case I die. If I recover, of course, I 
can write an exhaustive monograph on the 
whole history of the disease in the British 
Medical Journal. But if I die, the task 
of chronicling these interesting observations 
will devolve upon you. A most exceptional 
chance ! You are much to be congratulated." 

"You must not die, Professor," I cried, 
thinking more, I will confess, of Hilda Wade 

than of himself: "you must live to 

report this case for science." I used what I 
thought the strongest lever I knew for him. 

He closed his eyes dreamily. " For 
science ! Yes, for science ! There you strike 
the right chord ! What have I not dared 
and done for science ? But, in case I die, 
Cumberledge, be sure you collect the notes 
I took as I was sickening — they are most 
important for the history and etiology of 
the disease. I made them hourly. And 
don't forget the main points to be observed 
as I am dying. You know what they are : 
this is a rare, rare chance ! I congratulate 
you on being the man who has the first 
opportunity ever afforded us of questioning 
an intelligent European case, a case where 
the patient is fully capable of describing with 
accuracy his symptoms and his sensations in 
medical phraseology." 

He did not die, however. In about 
another week he was well enough to move. 
We carried him down to Mozufferpoor, the 
first large town in the plains thereabouts, 
and handed him over for the stage of con- 
valescence to the care of the able and 
efficient station doctor, to whom my thanks 
are due for much courteous assistance. 

" And now, what do you mean to do ? " I 
asked Hilda, when our patient was placed in 
other hands, and all was over. 

She answered me without one second's 
hesitation : " Go straight to Bombay, and 
wait there till Sebastian takes a passage for 

" He will go home, you think, as soon as 
he is well enough ? " 

" Undoubtedly. He has now nothing 
more to stop in India for." 

Digitized by Google 

" Why not as much as ever ? " 

She looked at me curiously. " It is so 
hard to explain," she replied, after a moment's 
pause, during which she had been drumming 
her little forefinger on the table. " I feel it 
rather than reason it. But don't you see 
that a certain change has lately come over 
Sebastian's attitude ? He no longer desires 
to follow me : he wants to avoid me. That 
is why I wish more than ever to dog his 
steps. I feel the beginning of the end has 
come. I am gaining my point. Sebastian 
is wavering." 

"Then, when he engages a berth, you 
propose to go by the same steamer ? " 

" Yes. It makes all the difference. When 
he tries to follow me, he is dangerous : when 
he tries to avoid me, it becomes my work in 
life to follow him. I must keep him in sight 
every minute now. I must quicken his con- 
science. I must make him feel his own 
desperate wickedness. He is afraid to face 
me : that means remorse. The more I 
compel him to face me, the more the remorse 
is sure to deepen." 

I saw she was right. We took the train to 
Bombay. I found rooms at the hospitable 
club, by a member's invitation, while Hilda 
went to stop with some friends of Lady 
Meadowcroft's on the Malabar Hill. We 
waited for Sebastian to come down from the 
interior and take his passage. Hilda felt sure 
he would come, with her intuitive certainty. 

A steamer, two steamers, three steamers, 
sailed, and still no Sebastian. I began to 
think he must have made up his mind to go 
back some other way. But Hilda was con- 
fident, so I waited patiently. At last one 
morning I dropped in, as I had often done 
before, at the office of one of the chief 
steamship companies. It was the very 
morning when a packet was to sail. " Can I 
see the list of passengers on the Vindhya ?" I 
asked of the clerk, a sandy-haired English- 
man, tall, thin, and sallow. 

The clerk produced it. 

I scanned it in haste. To my surprise and 
delight, a pencilled entry half-way down the 
list gave the name, " Professor Sebastian." 

"Oh, Sebastian is going by this steamer?" 
I murmured, looking up. 

The sandy - haired clerk hummed and 
hesitated. "Well, I believe he's going, sir," 
he answered at last; "but it's a bit uncer- 
tain. He's a fidgety man, the Professor. 
He came down here this morning and asked 
to see the list, the same as you have done : 
then he engaged a berth provisionally — 
1 mind, provisionally,' he said — that's why 




his name is only put in on the list in pencil 
I take it he's waiting to know whether a party 
of friends he wishes to meet are going also/' 

" Or wishes to avoid," I thought to myself, 
inwardly ; but I did not say so. I asked 
instead, ** Is he coming again ? u 

u Yes, I think so : at 5-30." 

" And she sails at seven ? " 

"At seven, punctually. Passengers must 
be aboard by half-past six at latest/' 

11 Very good," I answered, making my mind 
up promptly, " I only called to know the 
Professor's movements. Don't mention to 
him that I came. I may look in again my- 
self an hour or two later" 

11 You don't want a passage, sir ? You may 
be the friend he's expecting," 

"No, I don't want a passage — not at 
present certainly." Then I ventured on a 
bold stroke. " Look here," I said, leaning 
across towards him, and assuming a con- 
fidential tone, "lama private detective ,J — 
which was perfectly true in essence — "and 
I'm dogging the Professor, 
who, for all his eminence, is 
gravely suspected of a great 
crime. If you will help me, 
I will make it worth your 
while. Let us understand one 
another, I offer you a five- 
pound note to say nothing 
of all this to him." 

The sallow clerk's fishy eye 
glistened. " You can depend 
upon me/' he answered, with 
an acquiescent nod. I judged 
that he did not often get the 
chance of earning some eighty 
rupees so easily. 

I scribbled a hasty note and 
sent it round to Hilda : " Pack 
your boxes at once, and hold 
yourself in readiness to em- 
bark on the Vindkya at six 
o'clock precisely." Then I 
put my own things straight, 
and waited at the club till a 
quarter to six. At that time 
I strolled unconcernedly into 
the office : a cab outside held 
Hilda and our luggage. I had 
arranged it all meanwhile by 

li Professor Sebastian been here again ? " 
I asked. 

" Yes, sir ; he's been here ; and he looked 
over the list again: and he's taken his 
passage. But he muttered something about 
eavesdroppers, and said that if he wasn't 

satisfied when he got on board, he would 
return at once and ask for a cabin in ex- 
change by the next steamer." 

" That will do," I answered, slipping the 
promised five-pound note into the clerk's 
open palm, which closed over it convulsively. 
" Talked about eavesdroppers, did he? Then 
he knows he's being shadowed. It may con- 
sole you to learn that you are instrumental in 
furthering the aims of justice and unmasking 
a cruel and wicked conspiracy. Now, the 
next thing is this : I want two berths at 
once by this very steamer : one for myself — 
name of Cumberledge ; one for a lady—name 
of Wade : and look sharp about it" 

The sandy-haired man did look sharp j 
and within three minutes we were driving off 
with our tickets to Prince's Dock landing- 

We slipped on board unobtrusively, and 
instantly took refuge in our respective state- 
rooms, till the steamer was well under way, 
and fairly out of sight of Kolaba Island. 



Only after alt chance of Sebastian's avoiding 
us was gone for ever did we venture up on 
deck, on purpose to confront him. 

It was one of those delicious balmy even- 
ings which one gets only at sea and in the 
warmer latitudes. The sky was alive with 


9 2 


myriads of twinkling and palpitating stars, 
which seemed to come and go> like sparks 
on a fire-back, as one gazed upward into the 
vast depths and tried to place them* They 
played hide-and-seek with one another and 
with the innumerable meteors which shot 
recklessly every now and again across the 
field of the firmament, leaving momentary 
furrows of light behind them. Beneath, the 
sea sparkled almost like the sky, for every 
turn of the screw churned U[> the scintillating 
phosphorescence in the water, so that count- 
less little jets of living fire seemed to flash 
and die away at the summit of every wavelet. 
A tall, spare man in a picturesque cloak, and 
with long, lank, white hair, leant over the 
taffrail, gazing at the numberless flashing 
lights of the surface. As he gazed, he talked 
on in his clear, rapt voice to a stranger 
i by his side. The voice and the ring of 
enthusiasm were unmistakable, ll Oh, no," 
he was saying, as we stole up behind him, 
46 that hypothesis, I venture to assert, is 
no longer tenable by the 
light of recent researches. 
Death and decay have 
nothing to do directly with 
the phosphorescence of the 
sea, though they have a little 
indirectly. The light is due 
in the main to numerous 
minute living organisms, most 
of them bacilli, on which I 
once made several close ob- 
servations and crucial experi- 
ments. They possess organs 
which may be regarded as 
miniature bull's-eye lanterns : 
and these organs—" 

" What a lovely evening, 
Hubert ! " Hilda said to me, 
in an apparently uncon- 
cerned voice, as the Professor 
reached this point in his 

Sebastian's voice quavered 
and stammered for a moment. 
He tried just at first to 
continue and complete his 
sentence: "And these 
organs," he went on, aim- 
lessly, "these bull's-eyes that 
I spoke about, are so arranged 
—so arranged — 1 was speak- 
ing on the subject of crusta- 
ceans, I think— crustaceans 

so arranged " then he 

broke down utterly and turned 
sharply round to me. He did 

Digitized by Google 

not look at Hilda — I think he did not dare; 
but he faced me with his head down and hia 
long, thin neck protruded, eyeing me from 
under those overhanging, pent-house brows 
of his. " You sneak ! " he cried, passionately. 
41 You sneak ! You have dogged me by 
false pretences* You have lied to bring this 
about ! You have come aboard under a 
false name — you and your accomplice ! " 

I faced him in turn, erect and unflinching, 
"Professor Sebastian," I answered, in my 
coldest and calmest tone, "you say what is 
not true. If you consult the list of passengers 
by the Vindhya, now posted near the com- 
panion-ladder, yon w T ill find the names of 
Hilda Wade and Hubert Cumber ledge duly 
entered. We took our passage after you 
inspected the list at the office to see whether 
our names were there — in order to avoid us, 
Bui you cannot avoid us. We do not mean 
that you shall avoid us* We will dog you 
now through life — not by lies or subterfuges, 
as yon say, but openly and honestly. It is 

' YOU SKRAIt ! ,T|Ej ftfWyl ».S*lr.»prATBLY.' 




you who need to slink and cower, not we. 
The prosecutor need not descend to the 
sordid shifts of the criminal," 

The other passenger had sidled away 
quietly the moment he saw our conversation 
was likely to be private ; and I spoke in a 
low voice, though clearly and impressively, 
because I did not wish for a scene : I was 
only endeavouring to keep alive the slow, 
smouldering fire of remorse in the man's 
bosom. And I saw I had touched him on a 
spot that hurt* Sebastian drew himself up 
and answered nothing. For a minute or two 
he stood erect, with folded arms, gazing 
moodily before him. Then he said, as if to 
himself, " I owe the man my life. He 
nursed me through the plague. If it had not 
been for that — if he had not tended me so 
carefully in that valley in Nepaul — I would 
throw him overboard 
now — catch him in 
my arms and throw 
him overboard ! I 
would— and be 
hanged for it ! " 

He walked past us 
as if he saw us not, 
silent, erect, moody, 
Hilda stepped aside 
and let him pass. He 
never even looked at 
her. I knew why : 
he dared not. Every 
day now, remorse for 
the evil part he had 
played in her life, 
respect for the 
woman who had un- 
masked and outwitted 
him, made it more 
and more impossible 
for Sebastian to face 
her. During the whole 
of that voyage, 
though he dined in 
the same saloon and 
paced the same deck, 
he never spoke to her, 
he never so much as 
looked at her. Once 
or twice their eyes 
met by accident, and 

Hilda stared him down : Sebastian's eyelids 
dropped, and he stole away uneasily. In 
public, we gave no overt sign of our differ- 
ences : but it was understood on board 
that relations were strained : that Professor 
Sebastian and Dr. Cumberledge had been 
working at the same hospital in London 

Digitized by G* 

together ; and that owing to some disagree- 
ment between them Dr. Cumberledge had 
resigned — which made it most awkward for 
them to be travelling together by the same 

We passed through the Suez Canal and 
down the Mediterranean. All the time, 
Sebastian never again spoke to us. The 
passe ngers> in deed f he Id aloof from the solitary, 
gloomy old man, who strode along the 
quarter-deck with his long, slow stride, 
absorbed in his own thoughts, and intent 
only on avoiding Hilda and myself. His 
mood was unsociable. As for Hilda, her 
helpful, winning ways made her a favourite 
with all the women, as her pretty face did 
with all the men. For the first time in his 
life, Sebastian seemed to be aware that he 
was shunned. He retired more and more 


within himself for company: his keen eye 
began to lose in some degree its extraordinary 
fire, his expression to forget its magnetic 
attractiveness. Indeed, it was only young 
men of scientific tastes that Sebastian could 
ever attract : among them, his eager zeal, his 
single-minded devotion to the cause of 
Original from 




science, awoke always a responsive chord 
which vibrated powerfully. 

Day after day passed, and we steamed 
through the Straits and neared the Channel 
Our thoughts began to assume a home com- 
plexion. Everybody was full of schemes as 
to what he would do when he reached 
England, Old Bradshaws were overhauled 
and trains looked out, on the supposition 
that we would get in by such an hour on 
Tuesday. We were steaming along the 
French coast, off the western promontory of 
Brittany. The evening was fine, and though, 

drew her little fluffy, white woollen wrap 
closer about her shoulders. u Am I so very 
valuable to you, then ? " she asked— for I 
suppose my glance had been a trifle too 
tender for a mere acquaintance's. "No, 
thank you, Hubert ; I don't think Til go 
down, and, if you're wise, you won't go 
down either, I distrust this first officer. 
He's a careless navigator, and to-night his 
head's too full of that pretty Mrs, Ogilvy, 
He has been flirting with her desperately 
ever since we left Bombay, and to-morrow 
he knows he will lose her for ever. His 


of course, less warm than we had all ex- 
perienced of late, yet pleasant and summer- 
like. We watched the distant cliffs of the 
Finistfere mainland and the numerous little 
islands that lie off the shore, all basking in 
the unreal glow of a deep red sunset. The 
first officer was in charge, a very cock-sure 
and careless young man, handsome and dark- 
haired: the sort of young man who thought 
more of creating an impression upon the 
minds of the lady passengers than of the 
duties of his position. 

u Aren't you going down to your berth?" 
I asked of Hilda, about half-past ten that 
night ; " the air is so much colder here than 
you have been feeling it of late, and Fin 
afraid of your chilling yourself/ 1 

She looked up at me with a smile, and 

Digitized by G< 

mind isn't occupied with the navigation at 
all ; what he is thinking of is how soon his 
watch will be over, so that he may come 
down off the bridge on to the quarter-deck 
to talk to her. Don't you see she's lurking 
over yonder, looking up at the stars and 
waiting for him by the compass ? Poor 
child, she has a bad husband, and now she 
has let herself get too much entangled with 
this empty young fellow : I shall be glad for 
her sake to see her safely landed and out of 
the man's clutches/' 

As she spoke, the first officer glanced 
down towards Mrs. Ogilvy, and held out his 
chronometer with an encouraging smile which 
seemed to say, " Only an hour and a half 
more now ! At twelve, I shall be with you ! " 

" Perhaps you're tight, Hilda," I answered, 




taking a seat beside her and throwing away 
my cigar. " This is one of the worst bits on 
the French coast that we're approaching. 
We're not far off Ushant. I wish the 
captain were on the bridge instead of this 
helter-skelter, self-conceited young fellow. 
He's too cock-sure. He knows so much 
about seamanship that he could take a ship 
through any rocks on his course, blindfold — 
in his own opinion. I always doubt a man 
who is so much at home in his subject that 
he never has to think about it. Most things 
in this world are done by thinking." 

"We can't see the Ushant light," Hilda 
remarked, looking ahead. 

" No : there's a little haze about on the 
horizon, I fancy. See, the stars are fading 
away. It begins to feel damp. Sea mist in 
the Channel." 

Hilda sat uneasily in her deck-chair. 
"That's bad," she answered; "for the first 
officer is taking no more heed of Ushant 
than of his latter end. He has forgotten 
the existence of the Breton coast. His 
head is just stuffed with Mrs. Ogilvy's eye- 
lashes. Very pretty, long eyelashes, too : I 
don't deny it: but they won't help him to 
get through the narrow channel. They say 
it's dangerous." 

" Dangerous ! " I answered. " Not a bit 
of it — with reasonable care. Nothing at sea 
is dangerous — except the inexplicable reck- 
lessness of navigators. There's always plenty 
of sea-room— if they care to take it. Colli- 
sions and icebergs, to be sure, are dangers 
that can't be avoided at times, especially if 
there's fog about : but I've been enough 
at sea in my time to know this much at 
least — that no coast in the world is 
dangerous except by dint of reckless 
corner - cutting. Captains of great ships 
behave exactly like two hansom - drivers 
in the streets of London : they think they 
can just shave past without grazing ; and 
they do shave past nine times out of ten. 
The tenth time, they run on the rocks, 
through sheer recklessness, and lose their 
vessel : and then, the newspapers always ask 
the same solemn question— in childish good 
faith — how did so experienced and able a 
navigator come to make such a mistake in 
his reckoning? He made no mistake: he 
simply tried to cut it fine, and cut it too fine 
for once, with the result that he usually loses 
his own life and his passengers'. That's all. 
We who have been at sea understand that 

Just at that moment another passenger 
strolled up and joined us — a Bengal Civil 

Digitized by G* 

servant. He drew his chair over by Hilda's, 
and began discussing Mrs. Ogilvy's eyes and 
the first officer's flirtations. Hilda hated 
gossip, and took refuge in generalities. In 
three minutes the talk had wandered off to 
Ibsen's influence on the English drama, and 
we had forgotten the very existence of the 
Isle of Ushant. 

" The English public will never understand 
Ibsen," the new-comer said, reflectively, with 
the omniscient air of the Indian civilian. 
" He is too purely Scandinavian. He repre- 
sents that part of the Continental mind which 
is farthest removed from the English tem- 
perament. To him, respectability — our god 
— is not only no fetish, it is the unspeakable 
thing, the Moabitish abomination. " He will 
not bow down to the golden image which our 
British Nebuchadnezzar, King Demos, has 
made, and which he asks us to worship. And 
the British Nebuchadnezzar will never get 
beyond the worship of his Vishnu, respecta- 
bility, the deity of the pure and blameless 
ratepayer. So Ibsen must always remain a 
sealed book to the vast majority of the 
English people." 

"That is true," Hilda answered: "as to 
his direct influence ; but don't you think, 
indirectly, he is leavening England ? A man 
so wholly out of tune with the prevailing 
note of English life could only affect it, of 
course, by means of disciples and popularizers 
— often even popularizers who but dimly and 
distantly apprehend his meaning. He must 
be interpreted to the English by English 
intermediaries, half Philistine themselves, 
who speak his language ill, and who miss the 
greater part of his message. Yet only by such 

half-hints Why, what was that ? I think 

I saw something ! " 

Even as she uttered the words, a terrible 
jar ran fiercely through the ship from stem 
to stern. A jar that made one clench one's 
teeth, and hold one's jaws tight. The jar of 
a prow that shattered against a rock. I took 
it all in at a glance. We had forgotten 
Ushant, but Ushant had not forgotten us : it 
had revenged itself upon us by revealing its 

In a moment all was turmoil and confusion 
on deck. I cannot describe the scene that 
followed. Sailors rushed to and fro, un- 
fastening ropes and lowering boats, with 
admirable discipline. Women shrieked and 
cried aloud in helpless terror. The voice of 
the first officer could be heard above the 
din, endeavouring to atone by courage and 
coolness in the actual disaster for his reck- 
lessness in causing it. Passengers rushed on 



deck half clad, and waited for their turn to 
take places in the boats, It was a time of 
terror, turmoil, and hubbub. But, in the 
midst of it all, Hilda turned to me with 
infinite calm in her voice. M Where is 
Sebastian ? " she asked, in a perfectly col- 
lected tone. " Whatever happens, we must 
not lose sight of him,'* 

u I am here," another voice, equally calm, 
responded beside her. "You are a brave 

The first officer shrugged his shoulders. 
There was no time for protest "Next, 
then," he said, quickly. " Miss Martin— Miss 
Weatherly ! " 

Sebastian took her hand and tried to force 
her in, u You must go," he said, in a low, 
persuasive tone. " You must not wait for 

He hated to see her, I knew : but I 
imagined in his voice — for I noted it even 

l_ J AM HEBE. 

woman* Whether I sink or swim, I admire 
your courage, your steadfastness of purpose." 
It was the only time he had addressed a 
word to her during the entire voyage. 

They put the women and children into the 
first boats lowered. Mothers and little ones 
went first : single women and widows after. 
"Now, Miss Wade/' the first officer said, 
taking her gently by the shoulders when her 
turn arrived. "Make haste: don't keep us 
waiting ! " 

But Hilda held back. " No, no/' she said, 
firmly. " I won't go yet. I am waiting for 
the men's boat ; I must not leave Professor 

by Google 

then there rang some undertone of genuine 
desire to save her, 

Hilda loosened his grasp resolutely, (l No, 
no," she answered, " I cannot fly. I shall 
never leave you." 

" Not even if I promise " 

She shook her head and closed her lips 
hard. " Certainly not>" she said again, after 
a pause. " I cannot trust you. Besides, I 
must stop by your side and do my best to 
save you. Your life is all in all to me : I 
dare not risk it." 

His gaze was now pure admiration. "As 
you will," he answered. " For he tha* loseth 
his life shall gain it." 

Original from 



The boat was 
stood by my side, 
shock shook us. 

u If ever wo land alive," Hilda answered, 
glowing red in spite of the danger, "1 shall 
remind you of that word : I shall call upon 
you to fulfil it," 

lowered, and still Hilda 
One second later, another 
The Vindhya ported amid- 
ships, and we found ourselves struggling and 
choking in the cold sea water. 

It was a miracle that every soul of us was 
not drowned that moment, as many of us 
were. The swirling eddy which followed as 
the Vindhya sank swamped two of the boats, 
and carried down not a few of those who 
were standing on the deck with us, The 
last I saw of the first officer was a writhing 
form whirled about in the water ; before 
he; sank, he shouted aloud, with a seaman's 
frank courage, "Say it was all my fault: I 
accept the responsibility. I ran her too close. 
I am the only one to blame for it." Then 
he disappeared in the whirlpool caused by 
the sinking ship, and we were left still 

One of the life-rafts, hastily rigged by the 
sailors, floated our way. Hilda struck out a 
stroke or two and caught it She dragged 

herself on to it, and beckoned me to follow. 
I could see she was grasping something 
tightly in her hand. I struck out in turn 
and reached the raft, which was composed 
of two seats, fastened together in haste at 
the first note of danger. 1 hauled myself 
up by Hilda's side. *' Help me to pull him 
aboard ! n she cried, in an agonized voice, 
u I am afraid he has lost consciousness ! " 
Then I looked at the object she was clutch- 
ing in her hands. It was Sebastian's white 
head,* apparently quite lifeless. 

I pulled him up with her and laid him out 
on the raft, A very faint breeze from the 
south-west had sprung up : that and a strong 
seaward current that sets round the rocks 
were carrying us straight out from the Breton 
coast and all chance of rescue, towards the 
open Channel. 

Rut Hilda thought nothing of such physical 
danger, "We have saved him, Hubert!" 
she cried, clasping her hands, *' We have 
saved him ! But do you think he is alive ? 
For unless he is, my chance, our chance, is 
gone for ever ! " 

I bent over and felt his pulse. As far as 
1 could make out, it still beat feebly. 

Vfli + xix.— ia. 

by Google 

Original from 

Precipice-Riding in the Continental Armies. 

By B. Waters. 

HE Germans are not a nation 
of riders like the Spaniards, 
who may almost be compared 
to Centaurs or the English, 
who take to the saddle almost 
as naturally as a duck does to 
water. But there is a great appreciation of 
good riding in German sporting and military 
circles ; and though the majority of German 
riders never attain to anything approaching 
excellence, the few who do are so successful 
that they more than atone for the short- 
comings of the rest. At least, they do so as 
far as the reputation of the cavalry at a review 
is concerned, though in actual warfare, under 
modern conditions, rare and showy exploits 
do not really avail much. 

I do not believe the proverb that genius is 
merely a question of infinite pains, but, if I 
did, I should acclaim the typical German as 
a genius. This is particularly exemplified in 
his study of riding: he either neglects it 
entirely, knowing that he is not fitted to excel 
in it, or else he pursues it until he attains to 
a perfection rarely met with outside a circus. 

If we go into Tattersall's at Berlin almost 
any winter afternoon — particularly if a hard 
frost has rendered the roads useless — we shall 
find quite a number of officers riding round 
and round the school, practising and exhibit- 
ing their latest tricks to the admiration of 
their friends of the fair sex. They can do 
most of the so-called haute hole evolu- 
tions, making their horses paw the air at the 
word of command, or proceed on three legs, 
or even two. The intelligent beasts are also 
made to waltz, pirouette, or stop abruptly in 
the midst of a headlong gallop. As a per- 
formance it would not be thought much of in 
the presence of an Arab " fantasia," but in 
the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed man 
is king, and a German officer who obtains 
celebrity as a trick-rider is made almost as 
much fuss of as a successful cricketer at a 
public school. 

Major Heyden Linden is probably the best- 
known rider in Germany. He was stationed 
for a long time at Hanover with his regiment 
of I^ancers, and he afforded the principal 
attraction to the spectators in the military 
riding-school. His latest feat constituted the 
chief topic of the local tea-parties and kneipen 
for many a year, and his photograph was 
exhibited in the shop-windows in all sorts of 
surprising attitudes: such as crouching like 

Digitized by t-Tt 

a cowboy round the girths of a horse, which 
was rearing perpendicularly; or hanging 
almost miraculously from one stirrup as he 
reached out to pick up a handkerchief whilst 
,at full gallop. 

Another very famous rider was Graf zu 
Dohmer ; but one day, in attempting an un- 
usually daring piece of trick-riding, he was 
pitched off on to his head and cracked his 
skull, with the result that he has been 
"queer" ever since. Eight years ago he was 
the smartest officer in the smartest regiment. 

These were, however, single and excep- 
tional cases. To find trick-riding carried out 
upon a large scale as part of the drill we 
must go to King William I.'s Hussar regi- 
ment, which is quartered at Bonn. Their 
colonel, Oberst von Winterfeld, is now one 
of the foremost riders in the whole army, 
and he has devoted his best energies to 
developing the equestrian skill of his officers 
and men. . His success is no doubt mainly 
due to the fact that he never asks them to 
do anything which he is not prepared to do 
far more recklessly himself. Among his 
special apparatus, for instance, is a wall 15ft. 
high, which he has, on horseback, jumped 
down from several times. 

The chief general exercises, which are 
depicted in my illustrations, however, take 
place outside the town in what is known as 
" the Sand." A sharp, headlong declivity of 
loose earth runs down from a field to an 
open common for a distance of 70ft. or 80ft., 
and the soldiers are taken down it at a 
gallop I This is, of course, as severe a test 
for the horses as for the men, and both 
require a great deal of practice before they 
can negotiate the precipice gracefully and 
securely. In the first illustration the horse 
at the top is unmistakably refusing, and his 
rider will be hard put to it to entice him over 
the brink in spite of the excellent lead which 
the others have given him. And then, in the 
event of a sudden start, it looks as if the 
man would very soon be pitched over his 
head. The two riders in front of him are 
evidently old hands, for they are sitting well 
back and holding themselves with easy con- 
fidence. They seem to know that their 
horses may be trusted for this work, and so 
carry themselves with a leisurely air, which 
can only be. begotten of long experience. 
The attitude of the horse who is buck-jump- 
ing immediately in their path might, however, 




Pram a Photo, by) 



[Thou icAa/yvTKi t liu^n. 

welt excuse a certain amount of anxiety, for 
his attempt to steady himself at the steepest 
part of the descent threatens not only to 
send hi* master flying, but also to oppose 
a dangerous obstacle to those who follow 
immediately behind him. It will certainly 
be a case of touch and go whether a few 
seconds more will not see three or four 

horses and riders rolling down in one con- 
fused and inextricable mass. The occupants 
of the Royal carriage in the foreground and 
the riders and other spectators farther on are 
watching the issue with breathless excite- 

In the next photograph we see that the 
first horse and man have come badly to grief, 

I a Photo, by] 

by Google 

2* — A BAD SPILk- 

Original from 

IThw 6Vta/traiw, Itvwir 



fro in a f v h*}tu b\t\ 

J. — MECfc TO NECK. 

[ Thto Sehnjijii in», Jhimh, 

and the others are judiciously allowing a 
decent interval between each plunge over the 
brink- As might be expected, accidents are 
by no means rare at these exercises; but as 
a rule they are 
not serious ones, 
for a special Pro- 
vidence seems to 
watch over all 
those who ex- 
pose themselves 
to extraordinary 
risks. After all t 
the danger is 
only in learning, 
and, unless a 
man is unduly 
rash, he can soon 
train himself and 
his horse to go 
down far steeper 
places even than 
this in compara- 
tive security. 
The usual plan 
is to begin by 
leading a horsi; 
down the preci- 
pice several 
times, and then 
giving him his 
head the first time 

M§M I k 


he is ridden down. Indeed, the most expert 
officers say that, provided a man will sit far 
enough back: and give his horse his head, he is 
as safe as on the level The next photograph 

is taken from 
lower down, and 
shows us some 
of the best per- 
formers who are 
most at their 
ease. Two horses 
are starting 
almost neck to 
neck, and the 
riders are leaning 
back at so exact 
an angle that the 
farther one can 
only be made 
out by very care- 
ful inspection. 
This method of 
leaning back is by 
no means so easy 
as it looks, and 
requires an im- 
mense amount of 
practice before it 
can be performed 
with the airy 
carelessness of 
Herr Scheibel, 

4. — THR ArhV LAKt:i.ESS\t:SS Up HbiKK. SCHElllLL, 

From a Photo. &f TAeo Schafffam, Bonn. 

urigmal from 



-TKi-_Ul'tLfc>Kn.i[M] IS J UK ITALIA> AK.MV- AN fcASV DfcsLEN I . 

From a. l J k4o, lent bv fJaert «* Co, 

Ming chasms, without ever a 
qualm on the part of the 
driver. At first I imagined 
I was rushing to certain des- 
truction, and all the time I 
was exposed to exceeding dis- 
comfort f but I soon learned 
that there was nothing to 
fear, as the horses had been 
accustomed to such mad per- 
formances from their earliest 
infancy, and their fathers be- 
fore them. But I should not 
like to attempt such an exer- 
cise with European horses 
who had never been con- 
fronted by anything rougher 
than a hard high-road, and 
I am, accordingly, quite ready 
to do justice to the courage 
and skill of the German 
officers who have induced 
their horses to attempt such 
feats as those which it 

an officer of the reserve, who seems to lie has been my privilege to describe. 

down on his horse's back and shows off to Similar exercises have also beeti attempted 

the extent of keeping his right hand 

behind him throughout the critical 

descent. He seems almost to form 

with his horse one supernatural 

being, to whom no obstacle is alarm- 
ing, or no ascent or descent impos- 
sible. We expect almost to see him 

crawl up the side of a house or dis- 
appear into the air like a witch on 

a broomstick ! 

After all, given a certain knack of 

sticking on, whiuh most circus-riders 

find no difficulty in acquiring, the 

chief credit of such a performance 

belongs to the horse* In roadless 

and precipitous countries horses 

acquire a sureness of foot and reck- 
lessness of obstacles which would 

scarcely be credited in humdrum, 

civilized lands. Having become 

inured for generations to every sort 

of difficulty, they become second 

only to goats and chamois in their 

agility. I have often driven in 

Bulgaria and the neighbourhood of 

Constantinople in a large carriage 

drawn by a pair of horses, which 

proceeded at a brisk trot, and often 

broke into a headlong gallop right 

across country*, through hedges and 

fields i through torrent-beds full of 

great boulders ; up hill and down 

dale; and along the sides of erum- 


Frunm Phuto. lent bit\ 6.--PEGiN^wt; rn sude, 





7. — SMDING- 
Frotn a I'hutv UmL b& Gvert *£ Q§. 

in the Italian army with a certain success. 
Si^nor Paderni, the civilian chief of the 
Pinerolo establishment, set himself some 

twelve years ago to ride up and down a 
sugar-loaf hill ; and a less experienced horse- 
man lost his life in trying to imitate this 
exploit This Fatality caused all such exer- 
cises to he forhidden for a time, but they 
have since been resumed, and there is great 
emulation among the Italian cavalry to excel 
in circus tricks at the present moment 
There is a disused gravel -pit at Tor di 
Quinto, in the Campagna, near Rome, with a 
declivity of some 40ft, and here all sorts 
of daring experiments are practised. You can 
judge for yourself how daring these feats are hy 


8.— retLPAHIKti TO LEAF. 
Frvm a /'Aoto. htnt b]f ti&tr* tt Vo. 

3 y Google 

9w— AHOTttSA h<»bse J'REJ'Ahlmi to leap, 
AVom a t'Uittft. U»t by tJotri tti Go. 

glancing at the extremely impressive photo- 
graphs that illustrate the rest of my article. 

The horses have to he accustomed to their 
work gradually. In our next photograph we 
see them ridden down a very easy descent 
In process of time they come to perform 
extraordinary feats — feats so remarkable that 
nothing short of the testimony of one's own 
eyes or a photograph would make one believe 
it. Sometimes they slide down the greater 
part of the \tay, .but jwhen they realize that 




From a I*hofa. Unt by tfotrj tt Co, 

they can slide no farther, they 
become alarmed and take pro- 
digious leaps as they approach 
ihe bottom of the slope. 
Sometimes the leap comes 
much earlier, and the crash at 
the bottom is something 
terrific. Accidents are, how- 
ever, very few and far between . 
The horses « fall soft" 

This work requires a great 
deal of nerve* but is of no par- 
ticular use for practical pur- 
poses. Otherwise it would 
certainly have been imported 
into our own cavalry, seeing 
that English riders are un- 
rivalled by any others in the 

A word may be pardoned 
with reference to my illustra- 
tions. Time was when an 
exposure of the one-hundredth 
of a second was considered 
wonderful, but such exposures 
would have been useless for 

such rapid work as this, which has 
been done with the Goerz-Auschiitz 
slit-shutter in the thousandth part of 
a second. Kor pictures of subjects 
like the flight of a bullet, the splash 
of a drop of water, the move- 
ments of ripples in a fluid, even the 
thousandth part of a second is too 
fast ; but with the aid of a mag- 
nesium flash, and, better still, of an 
electric spark, infinitesimal moments 
of time can be utilized. Indeed, in 
some cases it has been found that 
the duration of the light of an 
electric spark is as short as one 
twenty- five thousandth part of a. 
second of time. 

So we may compliment the 
photographer who took these most 
curious and striking snap-shots. 

Frtitin rhufa fcrtiiy] tU— LEAI'lN^ FKOM A HEIGHT, 

L(rMT* e£ Co. 

by Google 

Original from 

By J. Harwood Panting. 

UTHOR— author!— author!" 
The shouts of the audience 
grew more and more vehe- 
ment. The principal actors 
in the drama had taken their 
"call." At length the curtain 
was drawn slightly aside at the prompt wing, 
and Paul Hesseltine stood, pale and trem- 
bling, before the audience. He was as a man 
summoned to his execution rather than one 
summoned before an excited and enthusiastic 
throng to receive their tribute to his genius. 
He had spent many anxious days and nights 
wondering how " A Fatal Silence ,? would be 
received. From the moment the curtain had 
been raised on the drama his suspense had 
increased a hundredfold* At last the climax 
had been reached, and he knew that it spelt 
" success. 7 ' He escaped from the ordeal in 
front of the curtain as quickly as possible, 

"Where is Miss Li versed ge ? " he asked 
the prompter. 

M Gone to her room, sir. She seemed 
precious tired, I thought she was going to 
faint when she came off the last time at the 
wings. She's worked hard, sir," 

No one km_-\v U-tk-r than Paul how hard 
Ivy Liver.sedge had worked to make his 
drama a success. She had first of all been 
cast for a minor part. The lady who had 
been engaged to play the heroine had taken 
umbrage at a suggestion made by Paul and 
Di; 3y GOOgJC 

had thrown up her engagement. After this 
disaster one might have thought that Paul 
would have been chary of making sugges- 
tions. But he had the temerity to make one 
more. He suggested thAt the heroine should 
be played by Ivy. This hint nearly resulted 
in worse consequences than the other. The 
objection this time was raised by the manager. 

" Miss Liver sedge had never played leading 
lady. She was not capable of playing leading 
lady. Was Paul fool enough to wreck his 
own play ? 5I 

These were a few of the objections 
raised by the manager. But Paul stuck to 
his guns. The vacancy was filled by Ivy 
Liversedge. She had worked hard, as the 
prompter had said, and the result had been 
as great a triumph for the actress as for the 

"We were quite justified in our selection, 
old fellow," said the manager, clapping Paul 
on the back. "Miss Liversedge has scored 
to-night. I always thought there was a good 
deal in her, and it's come out to-night. I'm 
glad I gave her the part. She won't look 
back after to-night Nor you, old fellow. 
Your fortune's made," 

In the green-room Paul was the recipient 
of further congratulations from actors and 
critics, He answered mechanically. His 
glance kept wandering to the door. 

Presently it opened, and a strange figure 
came into the greenroom. It was not the 




figure Paul was anxiously awaiting, but that 
of an elderly man, with a straggling grey 
beard j a much-wrinkled, almost sullen, ty[>e 
of face- The pockets of his overcoat were 
bulged with manuscripts. He looked round 
the room as he entered* His glance rested 
for - a moment on Paul. Not finding the 
face he was seeking, he shrank back into a 
corner of the room. 


A little later the door again opened, and 
Ivy Liversedge entered. She was slightly 
above the average height. She was not 
beautiful, but possessed that personal mag- 
net! sm which attracts and interests more 
than mere beauty. All eyes were turned to 
her as she entered the green room, precisely 
as the gaze of the audience had turned to 
her and followed her every movement when 
she was on the stage, 

Paul hastened to her with outstretched 
hand. She had escaped him before. She 
could not escape him now, 

"I owe my triumph to you, Miss Liver- 
sedge," he said, looking the gratitude he 
could not express, 

**And mine is due to you, Mr. Hesseltine, 

Vol. s^.-W, 

Had you not written the drama there would 
have been no part for me to triumph in, 
as you are good enough to put it. So — — 
Father ! ■ 

The queer figure had come from the corner 
into which he had withdrawn, and touched 
her upon the arm. The sad, wrinkled face 
had lighted up the instant she entered the 
room. It transfigured the old man and 
made of him a different being. He was 
trembling in every limb, as Paul had 
trembled when he had stood before the 

•■ You have triumphed, darling ! You have 
triumphed ! You have leapt to the top of 
the ladder at a bound." 

"All through Mr. Hesseltine, father, Ixt 
me introduce you." 

The face of Silas Liversedge underwent 
another transformation. The light died out 
of it, as suddenly as it had come. He 
took no notice of the hand which Paul 
extended to him as Ivy introduced them. 
He bowed stiffly, and turned almost rudely 
from Paul as he said :- 

"Come, Ivy, it* getting late. We must 
hurry home. You want rest — rest You're 
pale and jaded. I watched you from the pit. 
My eyes never left you. I sometimes feared 
the strain would be too much for you. Thank 
CJodj it's over, and you've won — won t Come, 
darling ! " 

She smiled tenderly as the old man linked 
his arm in hers, flashed a good-night to those 
in the room, and went out. Paul had seen 
the old man hovering about the stage-door 
on two or three occasions. He had been 
told that he was the father of Miss Liver- 
sedge, but the old man had always avoided 
him, and that was the first time he had been 
introduced to him. 

" What a contrast between father and 
{laughter," said Paul, as the door closed on 
the pair, 

" Confounded old curmudgeon ! i? said the 
manager. " If I had my way, he should not 
come inside the theatre," 

M He seems fond of the girl," 

*' Fonder of her earnings, I expect." 

'* Doesn't he do anything himself?" 

14 What an innocent you are, Hesseltine !" 
laughed the manager. "Aren't you aware 
that old Liversedge is one of your most for- 
midable rivals? He has bombarded every 
manager in London and the provinces with 
his manuscripts. Didn't you notice them 
overflowing from his pockets ? " 


" u mm^?i f Tra™icHiGAN 



u Poor old man ! " Paul spoke with deep 
pity. In the hour of his triumph he could 
afford to be generous. He could now under- 
stand the reason of the sadness and dis- 
appointment written on the old man's face, 

"Spare your pity for the poor devils who 
have had to wade through such trash/' said 
the manager. 

Every night the old man came for his 
daughter after that, but whenever Paul 
happened to be at the theatre he avoided 
him with the same care that he had done 
before the night Ivy had introduced them. 
Paul was puzzled and annoyed. What could 
be the meaning of it? Was LCver&edge 

kind of you, Mr. Hesseltine/' she said, 
11 to take fathers place. He has not been 
altogether well for the last day or two, 
and I insisted that he should not come 
for me to-night." 

** I regret your father's illness* Miss Liver- 
sedge ; and yet I'm thankful that his absence 
has given me the opportunity I have long 
desired of a few minutes' private conversation 
with you. Will you tell me in what way I 
have offended your father? I can trust you 
to tell me frankly, I know. Do not be 
afraid of hurting my feelings; for if there 
is a grievance of any kind I would like to 
remove it." 

jealous of his suc- 
cess ? Surely that 
was scarcely possible, 
seeing that Paul's 
drama had served 
as the medium of 
Ivy's triumph. 

The play was now 
in the full tide of its 
successful career, 
Paul's steps irre- 
sistibly turned of an 
evening to the stage- 
door. It was not 
to see the play. He 
had had more than 
enough of that. It 
was another and 
more potent power 
that attracted him. 

One night when 
he arrived at the 
theatre at the fall of 
the curtain he found 
to his joy that Ivy's 
grim guardian was 
absent from his 
post. So when she 
came from her dress- 
ing-room he asked 
permission to ac- 
company her 
home. She con- 
sented. As the 
flat in which she 
lived was not 
more than a 
mile distant 
from the theatre, 
and the night 
a clear one, 
they decided 
to walk. 

" It is very 


" He is an old man," 
she said, with a tremor 
in her voice; "and — 
and — we can excuse a 
good deal in an old 
man, can we not ? " 
And then, without wait- 
ing for an answer, she 
added, in a still lower 
key : " Next to Cod, 
Silas Liversedge has 
been my greatest friend. 
Heaven only knows 
what would have 
become of me had 
it not been for 

" Has he done 
more than most 
fathers would have 
done ? Surely it 
is rather a privi- 
lege than a duty 
where so accom- 
plished a daughter 
— I do not say it 
in flattery — is con- 
cerned ? " 

" He has done more than 
most fathers would have 
done, though he is not my 

" Not your father ? " Paul 
repeated, in astonishment 

ib No ; I am letting you 
into a secret which the 
world does not know, be- 
cause Vm sure that you will 
not reveal it, Mr, Hessel- 
tine. Silas Liver sedge is not 
my father. My real name 
is Summersby — Ivy Sum- 
mers by. I cannot recollect 
» *ccomp a *y her n OME . ,?1 - : 1 i W$ fcwrparents. My mother 




died soon after my birth ; and I had scarcely 
reached my third year when my father caught 
typhoid fever and died, Silas Liversedge was 
a neighbour of ours. He had undergone 
some great trouble of his own — I have never 
known what it was, because he always avoided 
telling me, and I shrank from questioning 
him, seeing that the memory of it gave him 
pain. Earlier in life he had been married ; for 
when I was a schoolgirl, I stole in upon him 
one day when he was looking at a portrait — 
the portrait of a young and beautiful lady. 
He hastily put it away when he saw that I 
was looking at it over his shoulder. Out 
of girlish curiosity, I asked him who the 
pretty lady was. ' My wife, child/ he 
answered. i She is now dead — dead — dead. 
If you love me, never speak of her to me 
again ! ' I shall never forget the pain and 
misery in his face as he turned to me ; nor 
the sadness and despair in his voice as he 
repeated the words, 'Dead — dead— dead.' 
Ever since then I have respected his wish. 
I have never once questioned him about the 
past — about the wife who is lying in her 

" And her portrait — have you never seen 
that since?" 

" Once, and once only. I have reason to 
recollect the occasion, for it was on the 
morning after your play, ' A Fatal Silence,' 
had achieved success. I rose earlier than 
usual, anxious, I suppose, to know what the 
morning papers would say of the play. To 
my astonishment, I heard Silas pacing up 
and down the room which he calls his • den.' 
Upon entering it, the first thing that caught 
my glance was the portrait of Silas's dead 
wife. It was upon the mantelpiece, and as 
he strode up the room I could see that his 
gaze was fixed upon it. He was so absorbed 
that I was able to withdraw quickly un- 
observed, afraid of harshly striking once 
again upon a tender chord." 

Paul's heart went out to the woman beside 
him. He had come in contact with many of 
her sex, but he had met with few so tenderly 
thoughtful and considerate. 

" Now you know more than the world 
knows of the link between Silas Liversedge 
and me," she continued. " But there is one 
thing you cannot realize. You cannot realize 
all he has been to me. Ip spite of his own 
early trouble, and the bitter disappointments 
that have followed him in his course as 
dramatist, he has watched over me with the 
love and patience not only of- the best of 
fathers, but of mothers. He has stood to me 
in the place of both. You now understand 

Digitized by LjOOQ I C 

him better, do you not ? If he has seemed 
uncouth, harsh to you, you can see that there 
is a good, kind, honest heart beneath. God 
bless Silas Liversedge." 

"God bless him, too," echoed Paul, 
devoutly. "I understand all that he has 
been and is to you, Miss Liversedge ; but it 
scarcely explains his attitude to me. It is 
not merely the crabbedness of old age, or 
the gall of an early sorrow. It seems to me 
prompted by one thing only — dislike — 
positive dislike. Heaven knows what I have 
done to incur it." 

He tried to see her face ; but it was 
averted from his. He could feel, however, 
that the hand resting on his arm was 
trembling. She did not at once answer. 
She seemed afraid to trust herself to speech. 
When she at length spoke, she had gained 
control of her voice ; but it had that note of 
pathos in it which had so often thrilled her 
audience, and had held in its magic the man 
who was walking by her side. 

" I will be frank with you, Mr. Hesseltine, 
though the pain to me in speaking will be 
greater than that to you in listening. My 
father does dislike you— there is no use in 
denying it. For what reason, I am as 
ignorant as yourself. We cannot help our 
prejudices. Forgive him ! As I said before, 
he is an old man, and his life has been one 
of bitter disappointment." 

They walked on in silence for a short 

"I have given you pain, Mr. Hesseltine?" 
she presently said, breaking the silence. 

" You have only confirmed my impression. 
Nevertheless, it has given me pain, for I had 
a great desire to gain your father's esteem 
and friendship." 

Her hand tightened on his arm. He knew 
as plainly as though she had told him that 
that was her desire also. 

" You have said that your father has had a 
life of disappointment, Miss Liversedge. 
Rumour has already told me something to 
the same effect, and something also of Che 
cause of his disappointment. Do you think 
I could be of any help to him with those 
manuscripts of his ? " 

" Would you really ? " Her face brightened 
up. The note of sorrow in the voice had 
changed to one of joy. " Oh, that is kind 
of you, Mr. Hesseltine. It might make all 
the difference. Do you know I have often 
detested myself since that night I gained a 
measure of success? I think of the older 
actresses who have striven for years, and have 
never tasted it. After all, it must be bitter 

j 1 1 1 ■_• 1 11 




to them to see the younger ones carry off 
laurels they have hungered for— mustn't it?" 

Paul understood, .That was her delicate 
way of putting what he himself suspected. 
She had come to the same conclusion that 
he had— that the dislike of Mr* Liversedge 
to him was , attributable to an old man's 

Before going to bed that night he wrote a 
letter to Mr. Liversedge, asking him if he 
would do him the honour of reading to him 
one of his plays. He determined, if possible, 
to remove any grievance the old man might 
have against him, and he thought he saw 
a way by which he could carry out 
his intention* 

To his delight he received an 
answer next day, saying that Mr, 
Liversedge wuukl be pleased to see 
him if he could make it convenient 
to call that afternoon. Pau! at once 
hastened to the Rat Ivy was out, 
but Mr. Liversedge was awaiting him 
in a condition of nervous agitation. 
His illness had ploughed deeper lines 
| in his sunken cheeks, but the eyes 
were lit up with excitement as he 
greeted Paul effusively, 

" I— I am so glad you wrote 
to me, Mr. Hesseltine, It is 
really very kind of you. Come 
this way into my little snugger)', 
where we shaVt be interrupted." 

He led the way from the 
sitting-mom into a small 
study and workroom. 

"This is my room — all 
arranged for me by Ivy. 
Fd better turn the key. 
Our domestic has a way of 
popping in her head just 
when she isn't wanted." 

He turned the key of 
the door as he spoke, 
much to the amusement 
of Paul 

" Take a seat, Mr. 
Hesseltine — take a seat. 
It is really very kind of 
you; but -but I should 
be sorry to trespass on 
your good nature by read- 
ing to you one of my 
prosy plays." 

u I trust you have not the intention of dis- 
appointing me, Mr, Liversedge, I have come 
to you for the express purpose of listening 
to you. The idea has occurred to me that 
we might possibly do something tog. 

" Collaborate?'' cried the old man, eagerly. 

" Why not ? You have the experience 
which I lack," 

" Strange ! " cried Mr, Liversedge, " The 
very thing I had thought of, though I scarcely 
liked to say so, I've got a grand play in my 
mind, It's been simmering there for years, 
but I've never put it to paper. If we could 
only work it out between us- " 

He stopped short, waiting for Paul to 

" 1 shall be delighted, Can you give me 
some idea of what your play is to be?" 

" Certainly. I'm anxious for your opinion. 


I can only, of course, give you a rough 

" Of course," 

Paul leant back in the arm-chair and 
com posed UhiiQtB^f f I® m listen, Liversedge 




took one or two quick turns up and down 
the room, then commenced in tones that 
vibrated through the room. 

"The drama, commences in the happy 
home of — let me see, what name shall I use ? 
Oh, my own will serve. It will give a touch 
of realism to the play. The drama, then, 
commences in the happy home of Silas 
Liversedge. He has a wife whom he adores, 
but no children. Enter the villain — we will 
call him, for the >time being, Percival 
Carruthers. Carruthers gains the confidence 
of Liversedge. All the time he is plotting 
against the domestic happiness of his friend. 
Bit by bit he weans away the affection of 
wife from husband. The two elope. The 
elopement brings down the curtain on the 
first act. Do you follow me, Mr. Hesseltine?" 

" Perfectly. Your plot is perfectly clear. 
No very serious complications so far." But 
Paul added to himself : " Poor old fellow ! 
The idea that has been simmering in his 
mind so long, and which he considers so 
original, is one of the unfortunate common- 
places of existence. " Then aloud : " Pray, 
proceed, Mr. Liversedge. I'm getting quite 

" I'm glad of that. We will now ring up 
the curtain on act two. Liversedge is struck 
down with brain fever upon discovering his 
wife's deceit, his friend's treachery. His 
health, like his domestic happiness, is 
shattered. Near him lives a rough, uncul- 
tured labourer — Edward Summersby." 

" Summersby ! " Paul repeated to himself. 
"I have heard that name before." And 
then, almost as the thought flashed through 
his brain, he remembered that that was the 
real name of Ivy. Was the man's reason 
giving way? Was he confusing fact with 
fiction? Liversedge was striding up and 
down the room again as one possessed, 
heart and soul, with the drama he was 

" Summersby," he presently continued, 
" has been left a widower with one child — a 
girl — that can just toddle. What shall we 
christen her? We may as well keep it in 
the family. Let's give her the name of my 
girl — Ivy. It will do just as well as any 
other. Well, the man with the rough exterior 
and big heart — — " 

" Edward Summersby," prompted Paul. 

"Edward Summersby — thank you, Mr. 
Hesseltine— nurses Liversedge back to con- 
sciousness and health. Upon his recovery 
he starts out determined to revenge himself 
on the man who has wronged him." 

" More commonplace ! " groaned Paul, 

inwardly, but nevertheless greatly interested 
in the "drama." 

" Liversedge, as ajesult of his quest," went 
on the old man, " discovers that his wife and 
Carruthers have gone to Australia. He is 
about to follow them, when he hears of the 
death of the man who has nursed him back 
to life." 

"Edward Summersby," again prompted 
Paul, beginning to get more and more 
interested in the story, as he saw how it 
assimilated itself to the few details Ivy had 
already given him of the old man's life. 

" Edward Summersby ! What a splendid 
memory you have for names, Mr. Hesseltine. 
Well, the better emotions have not been 
altogether destroyed in Liversedge's nature. 
He returns to his home, and becomes a 
father to little Ivy. Am I still clear to you, 
Mr. Hesseltine?" 

" Quite," answered Paul, nestling deeper 
and deeper in his chair, as his thoughts went 
to that other Ivy whom he had come to 
admire and love. 

"The return of Liversedge to his home, 
and his becoming a second father to little Ivy, 
will bring down the curtain on the second 
act. If any improvements occur to you, Mr. 
Hesseltine, I hope you will suggest them as I 
go on," said Liversedge, pausing. 

" It will be much better for me to reserve 
any criticisms I have to make till the end, I 
think. So much turns upon the climax," 
said Paul. 

" True— true ! " cried Liversedge, quite 
hoarse with the emotions called forth by his 
"drama." "So much depends on the 
climax. But you need have no fear on that 
point. I've thought it all out. The 'climax 
will be a strong one, I promise. Let's see— 
where am I? Oh, we have finished two 
acts. We now come to the third. Liversedge 
throws on one side any thought of present 
revenge in his desire to repay the debt he 
owes to the child's dead father. His life 
becomes absorbed in the life of little • Ivy. 
He clothes her, educates her. Then, finding 
she has a natural gift for the stage, nurses 
and develops her talent to the best of. his 
ability. He does more. He spends the 
solitary hours of the night in writing plays 
for her in which he hopes to see her ultimately 
shine as heroine." 

" Ha ! " Paul rose quickly from his recum- 
bent position in the chair, and gazed at the 
strangely excited old man. The drama had 
now become just as absorbing to him as to 
Liversedge. Already he was actively engaged 
in clothing its dry bones with flesh. 




11 You like my drama ? " asked Li versed ge, 

"Go on — go on," 

" Ivy grows to womanhood, her talent un- 
recognised. A worse fate befalls the efforts 
of the father who has adopted her. No 
manager will read his plays. They remain 
unacted. Things are at this pass when a new 
dramatist comes along — a young man. At a 
bound he leaps into popular favour. His 
drama becomes the talk of the town, while the 
dramas of Liversedge remain in his desk." 

He paused, and again strode feverishly up 
and down the room. Then he once more 
confronted Paul, the muscles of his face 
working spasmodically, the pupils of his eyes 
dilated, like one distraught. 
, " The young dramatist who had achieved 
that brilliant success," he went on, in deep, 
passionate tones, " was a nephew of the man 
who had years ago run away with Liversedgt's 

" Nephew of the man who had run away 
with Liverstrdge's wife ! " repeated Paul, 
staring at the man before him in 

"The actress who played the 
heroine of the drama, and had been 
chiefly instrumental in its success, 
was the daughter Liversedge had 
adopted— Ivy. But I have yet to 
tell you the cruellest stroke of all 
that Fate had reserved for Liver- 
sedge* He had so long watched 
over the girl he had adopted that he 
had come to know her better than 
she knew herself. What was his 
misery— his torture of mind — when 
he discovered bit by bit that she 
loved, disguise it though she might, 
even from herself, the dramatist— 
the nephew of the man who had 
robbed him of his wife ! But let 
us have all the characters clear for 
the curtain," cried Liversedge, ** I 
am the unfortunate husband, the 
unfortunate dramatist, and unfortu 
nate father ; Ivy is the daughter 
of Edward Summcrsby — the child 
whom I adopted ; Carruthers, the 
villain of the piece, is the uncle of 
Paul Hesseltme, who now stands 
before me, and — may Heaven have 
mercy on his soul ! — I know of 
only one climax to my drama, and it ? s this," 

To Paul's horror, Liversedge drew a 
revolver from his pocket as he spoke and 
presented it straight at him. Paul did not 
move- He stood gazing fixedly along the 
flashing barrel of the pistol into the wild 

eyes before him. At that moment there 
was a knocking at the door. 

11 Father ! JJ s 

It was Ivy. The sound of her voice 
seemed to paralyze the old man's hand. 
Twice he tried to pull the trigger ; then the 
weapon dropped from his nerveless hand to 
the floor. 

" Father — father \ " cried Ivy, in tones of 
alarm, "Why have you locked the door? 
Open it j please/' 

The key was in the lock. With a stride 
Paul reached the door and unlocked it. Ivy 
stood in the doorway, amazement on her 

" Mr, Hesseltine ! ]J Then her glance 
travelled from him to Liversedge, "Father!" 


Liversedge hdd sunk into a chair, and 
covered his face with his hands. Sobs rent his 
breast. Tears, such as only men weep, were 
streaming through the long, gaunt fingers. 

Ivy knelt by his side, and gently drew the 
grey hetd to her brtiiuiU 




/ &/*#f' 



u Father ! " Her glance went in horror to 
the pistol that had fallen from his hand, and 
then stole upward in appeal to Paul " What 
— what does it all mean, Mr. Hesseltine ? " 

Paul had had time to collect his thoughts. 
He now recalled the rumours he had heard 
when a boy of a scapegrace uncle who had 
fled from England ; for what reason he had 
never known, as the facts had he en carefully 
kept from him by his parents. Later he had 
heard of his death, and all interest in him 
had expired with him. To his pain and 
shame he now for the first time discovered 
in this strange way the precise nature of his 
uncle's crime. But at the back of all was 
another, and more precious, secret, that had 
fallen from the old man's lips— the revelation 
that Ivy loved him. 

His love for her was returned. With the 
knowledge of that fact he could afford to be 
magnanimous. Whatever resentment he 
might have felt towards the poor old, broken- 

down man before him 
died almost at the 
moment of its birth, 
and deep pity took 
its place. He had 
been more sinned 
against than sinning. 
His mind had been 
temporarily unhinged 
by the suffering and 
misfortune t h ro ug h 
which he had passed. 
H What does it all 
mean, Miss Liver- 
sedge — Ivy ? " said 
Paul, addressing her 
for the first time by 
her Christian name. 
" There is nothing at 
all to be alarmed at 
— indeed, there isn't; 
Your father has been 
going through one 
of his dramas- that's 
all, and the realism 
has been too much 
fur him. Let us 
make a good old 
dramatic picture/* 
He knelt as he spoke 
by the side of the 
old man, opposite to 
Ivy. "I told you, 
Mr. Liversedge," he 
went on, in an earnest 
voice, u that I would 
reserve my criticisms 
of your drama till the end. My only 
criticism is this— it is a powerful, stirring 
play, which has affected me more than 1 care 
to tell you ; but, pardon me for saying it, 
you have altogether missed the right climax. 
You have been mixing tragedy with drama. 
Let me suggest what I think will be an 
infinitely better ending* Ivy has been to you 
as a daughter. IaM: the nephew of the man 
who has wronged you be to you as a son. 
That will give you a finer stage picture — and 
dramatic justice will be satisfied." 

The climax suggested by Paul Hesseltine 
took the place of that tragic one which the 
distraught imagination of Liversedge had at 
first contemplated. The old man did not 
live very long after ; but the few remaining 
years of his life were happier than they had 
been since his wife was stolen from him. 
Paul and Ivy joined hands and brought to 
him the sunshine that had so long faded from 
his life. 


/ / 

Bears at School, 

By Albert fcL Broadwell. Photographs by K. J. Johnson, 

RUISESj did you say? Look 
at my arms ! " We looked 
and wondered. Big patches 
of blue stood out; witnesses 
of Mr* Permane's encounters 
with his pupils. Some twelve 
years ago this famous trainer took a particular 
fancy to bears, and he confidentially asserts 
(and no one will doubt him) that not one of 
the many bears he has handled during that 
time has ever taken any particular fancy to him, 
We have had occasion to assist at a private 
performance, during which the accompanying 
photos, were taken, Mr* Permane, whose 
n ightly performance 
with his bears used 
to form one of 
the principal draws 
at the Alhan.bra, 
Leicester Square, 
need have no fear 
of our ever starting 
in the bear-training 
line after that ex- 
perience. Bears at 
school are very 
amusing to look at 
from a distance, but 
our photographer 
absolutely refuses 
to focus hears again 
at any price. 

"They catch 
them in Russia, and 
we train them in 
England," said Mr, 
Permane. M Curi- 
ously enough, every 
tenth house in St 
Petersburg owns at 
least one pet bear 
cub during the 
season. The Rus- 
sians are fond of 
pets, and the bear 
cubs are bought as 
they are brought in 

by the peasants. They are only kept for a 
short time, however. When about three 
months old they exhibit certain signs of 
familiarity which to the average man in 
the street seem rather uncalled for ; they 
are then generously presented to the nation, 
and find a home in the bear-pits at the 
Zoological Gardens, where as many as sixty 
cubs are to be found at a time. 

" Familiarity breeds contempt/ 1 says Mn 


Permane, and familiarity has led him into 
some tight places. 

Though he and the lady bear shown in the 
first photo, seem on very good terms, there are 
moments when such familiarity is undesirable. 
I£ lt was a hot summer in Madrid," said 
the trainer, "and the weather seemed to 
affect my pets rather more than usual. After 
feeding time I went to caress one of the bears, 
who was chained to an ordinary manger. 
Not seeming in a mood to accept my over- 
tures, however, the brute seized me by the 
arm just above the shoulder, and shook me 
as a terrier would a rat, and then threw me 

in a heap into the 
furthermost corner 
of the stable. This 
being the second 
time she had at- 
tacked me in a 
determined manner 
that week, I thought 
it high time that the 
good people of 
Madrid were enjoy- 
ing some bear's 
meat for supper — 
and so they did ! ?J 

Bear's meat for 
supper seems a 
strange dish, but 
curiously enough 
there are many 
people on the Conti- 
nent who delight in 

This statement 
seemed so extra- 
ordinary that we 
determined to 
sound Mr. Permane 
thoroughly on that 
point. We will let 
him tell how it is 
that bear- steak is 
offered to the public 
for consumption, 
though they little guess how the transaction 
comes about. 

li You must understand," he said, " that 
after a certain age, which after all depends 
much upon the temperament of the animal, 
a hear will become unmanageable. There is 
no coaxing him into good behaviour, either 
by threats or kindness. He simply will have 
his own way, and then the best thing to do 
is to a^|^^Wn|l^^CNt^ l#atc- 




"The last two bears which I had to 
destroy under such circumstances became 
unmanageable whilst I was performing in 
Paris, It was in the middle of winter, and 
though I unsuccess- 
fully tried to reform 
their unruly ways, I 
had to decide to du 
away with them- 

41 Now, I love my 
bears greatly — they 
dance for the very 
love of me, as you 
see in the Serpentine 
Dance photo, ; so 
you will understand 
that I never could 
take it into my head 
to shoot them my- 
self- I hdve always 
had to secure the 
ftood offices of 
another to give the 
coup dc grace to my 
unruly ones. The 
two hears in question 
were accordingly 
shot and sold to a 
butcher in the Place 
de la Repuhlique 

for j£3o, dead meat The run on those bears 
was tremendous — the meat was sold at two 
francs a pound, and the skins fetched nearly 

;£io each ! A Commissaire de Police had 
to be called in to stop the rush on the remains 
of my pets, and I felt sad indeed at the sight 
of such a pitiful end to their theatrical life, 

41 When I buy a ' guaranteed ' bear from 
the Zoo at St, Petersburg I can bet my 
bottom dollar that he has never been tam- 
pered with before. These bears come 
straight from their native wilds, and that is 
how I like them best. I am always on the 
look-out for a bear that has never been 
handled before, I like him young. You 
can educate him like you would a child ; 
but, mind you, you must be very firm, other- 
wise he will take the upper hand, and then 
it is all over. 

"The best time to start the bear in the 
training business is when he is about eighteen 
months old* The Swinging Feat shown here 
took me quite six months to teach. Curiously 
enough, the bear enjoys the swinging im- 
mensely now, though the first few lessons 
were not quite so pleasant 

u How long it takes to thoroughly train a 
bear is difficult to say. It depends entirely 
upon the bear's disposition. Some bears are 
slow, others are quick to understand what 
you want, and the rest are too quick 
altogether, and those I drop like hot dishes. 

* The cost, you say ? Well, I pay from 

j£l to ^10 each delivered in I^ondon. Rut 
I do not think that a bear could be obtained 
asapet unaer ri 4j^| frorn 




■IKK sKt.-s,-\U. 

"This reminds me of an amusing incident. 
I expected a consignment of eight bears, 
which arrived at a certain London terminus 
rather late in the evening. I was sent for 
rather urgently, and though I resented that 
somewhat unwarranted intrusion upon my 
evening pipe, I went, and I now think it is 
as well that I did so, The whole station 
staff had assembled around the cage contain- 
ing my 'goods,' The passengers were adding 
materially to the crush, and I had to exercise 
the utmost patience and goodwill to over- 
come the confusion that unhappily arose 
over my ( wild dogs/ for, let me add, they were, 
curiously enough, 
registered as such. 
They had been in 
their cage a week, 
and, of course, 
they tried their 
level best to get 
out of it at the 
earliest possible 
moment* I in- 
wardly thanked 
the Russians for 
their com m o n 
sense in providing 
iron bars of great 
strength/ 1 

One of this un- 
ruly party is shown 
at work a year 
after his arrival on 
English soil His 

feat consists in rolling 
a huge ball up one half 
of a see- saw, rocking 
freely, and down the 
other half. He is 
shown here anxiously 
awaiting the dreaded 
moment when the 
ascent quickly 
changes into an 
abrupt descent with 
a bang. 

"There is one thing 
about which the 
public at large seem 
to be under a wrong 
impression, and this I 
should like to correct," 
added Mr. Permane. 
tf Bears are herbivor- 
ous, not carnivorous. 
They will attack 
either animal or man 
only after a somewhat 
protracted fast. There is, therefore, no 
necessity for giving bears any meat whatso- 

** Wherever I go," says Mr. Permanc, " I 
am always besieged by the local butcher 
offering to provide me with the necessary 
meat and bones for my bears, and when I 
send him away, telling him that I only give 
them carrots and bread, he departs with a 
knowing svink, and probably imagines that 
I am utterly mistaken as to the food I ought 
to provide for my four-footed friends," 

From the evident enjoyment shown by one 
of the pets in £< Do let me have some,'' we 



Mm ^^ 






/ I 

\E "9 


^— ~ 

— irvi 


^C V^Si^H 

^^^Kl vlfl 




— fe- '" 


by Google 

'" JUIJlE>l Wgffralfrorn 




have evidence enough that carrots are con 
sidered quite a dainty. 

"My large bears/' Mr, Permane adds, in ex 
plana tion, "will eat 4 lb, of 
bread and l.olb. of carrots 
|>er diem, and I do not 
believe in limiting their 
green food on any ac- 
count. It is a splendid 
thing for their coats> and 
I can remember my four 
bears eating nearly two 
sacks full of freshly cut 
grass in one day, 

" Food; however, is 
not the only thing to be 
considered. Bears, as a 
rule, drink water ; that 
is, of course, in their 
native country. But, will 
you believe it, my bears 
were once confirmed 
bibbers. Do you see 
that little bear ? His name 
k Fatty, and that name 
has been given him on 
account of his rotundity. 
He used to have beer 
for luncheon and beer 
for dinner, and so did 
the others. I had to put a stop to that, 
however. He is a clever little chap, and has 
learnt to he a pickpocket of no mean merit. 
Look at the knowing way in which he steals 
the bottle in The Pick- 
pocket, and the joyful 
look when he finds him- 
self the sole possessor 
of his plunder, 

"In days gone by I 
used to give my hears 
what is commonly called 
1 four ale ? beer ; one 
day, however, while per- 
forming at Kidgrove, I 
was unable to obtain 
any of their every-day 
liquid. In the hurry of 
the moment I accord- 
ingly had to purchase 
some bottled Bass, That 
settled the bears* Some 
days later I had to move 
to another place, and 
I used ' four ale ' again, 
but, alas, the bears 



would not drink it— they knew what they 
were about. One of them, on tasting the 
contents of his bottle, showed his indignation 
by throwing it right 
across the stage, smash- 
ing some half-dozen foot- 
lights, and growling in a 
way that caused some 
trepidation among the 
audience. Upon my ex- 
plaining the reason, how- 
ever, I met with a 
tremendous ovation. This 
incident ended the beer 
business altogether, I 
cast about for ways and 
means, and decided to 
give my bears sugar water. 
They took to it in the 
kindest fashion, and their 
hibbings are now exclu- 
sively confined to tem- 
perance drinks, a course 
which they have adopted 
with much wisdom, and 
to the benefit of my 
balance at the bank." 

We ventured to ask 
Mr. Permane how his 
bears happened to 
acquire their former vicious habit in 
preference to temperance drinks, especi- 
ally before large audiences, when it might 
have been thought that they, in the ordi- 
nary course of modesty, 
would have chosen the 
ample opportunities 
offered by elaborate 
stage scenery to hide 
their blushes. 

11 It was quite by acci- 
dent," said the trainer. 
"One day one of my 
bears got loose in a 
Stable, and seeing a 
bottle containing the 
remainder of some beer, 
he very ingeniously 
started to empty the 
contents thereof. I 
saw at once that there 
would be a good stage 
trick in this, and so I 
went ahead and taught 
them the use of the 
sugar-water bottle*" 

tin-, i- 

tils I'LL'NDBH. 

Original from 


[IV& Yknii he giad to rtcthte Contributions to this w/?t>« 5 find to pay for such as are aaepied] 

Mr. tt. P. Hornby, editor and proprietor of 
the Ui*aMt Ijeudur^ Uvalde, Texas, sends an 
interesting photo. In explanation he says : 
11 litre is a photo, of a milking scene in a Texas 
cow -pen. The cow has probably been found 
out in the pasture with a young calf and has 
been brought in to be milked, or rather ' broke.* 
There are some twenty more cows and calves in 
the pen, which covers an acre in extent. The 
cow in question has had her hind legs duly »ied 
to prevent mishaps, and the man on the horse 
keeps the rope taut. A peculiar fact (at least to 
an Englishman) is that none of the calves are 
weaned, and that it would be impossible to milk 
a Texas cow without first letting the* calf suck.* 
The reason, the stockmen say, is because the 
cows give so little milk, and then the calves get 
so much bigger and stronger and are easier 10 
raise. From twenty-five cows barely more than 
two and a half gallons of milk can he goL" 

A new seaside re- 
creation suggests itself 
in looking at the snap- 
shot reproduced here 
showing Mr. H. L.. 
Darlington in the act 
of jnui-.MiL* over a 
horse attached to an 
ice-cream vendor's cart. 
The jump was made on 
soft sand! which makes 
the feat all the more 
remarkable, whilst the 
breadth of the animal 
and the shafts of the 
cart must a ho be taken 
into consi der a t ion. M r, 
Herbert Connor, of 7, 
St. George*s Villas, 
Thorn Road, Don- 
caster, took this clever 
snap-shot at ihe critical 
moment, and the scene 
was laid on Scar- 
borough SI IT Is, 

«lt:, ;r j" 


The Rev. Henry W. 
Pells, J of 20, William 
Street, Woodstock, Cape 
Town, sends an interest- 
ing photograph of four 
enormous anchors sup- 
posed to have been in use 
on Noah*s Ark. The 
strange relics are to lie 
found at Kiii ro nan, N. 
Africa. They are about 
15ft, in length and very 
solid, while some idea of 
their size can be gained 
by comparison with the 
English missionaries in 
the picture. The man in 
drab is the custodian of 
these jealously -guarded 
monsters ; he asserts thai 
one of the anchors is of 
pure gold, the oiher of 
silver, the third of 
bronze, and the fourth of 

* Copyright, 1900, by George N*wn« t Uu ii^I, 




Mr. Allwrt Fleming, of 3, Verulam Buildings, 
Gray's Inn, says : ** I send you ihe photo, of a dog 
made out of a piece of newspaper* It was fashioned 

at a public dinner, when one of ihe guests took a bit 
of newspaper from his pocket, and in a few minutes 
produced the above excellent result. Observe the 
life-like pose of his hind legs/ 1 

"There was an old woman who lived in a shoe," 
but she was content with one shoe, although her 
family is said to have been a very large one. Thirteen 
old horse -shoes were hanging this spring on the back 
of a garden wall close to an old boiler which workmen 
were removing and replacing by a new one— a very 
noisy piece of work— when, in no wise deterred by 
this, a pair of wrens built their nest in the midst of 

ihe cluster uf horseshoes and then brought up their 
young. The mother bird having bean found one day 
drowned in a pail of water standing near, her male 
tended and cared for their younu, until they were 
fledged and flown. The horse - shoes containing 
tin.' nesr, ns shown in the photo., still hang on the 
wall at Eterlhorpe Hall, ft rough, East Yorkshire. 
We are indebted for this photo, tu Miss H. Wetherell, 
of Randolph Gardens, Kilhurn, N.W. 

This is perhaps the most extraordinary pillar-box 
on record* A lovely spot, not far from God a lining, 

Digitized by OOOQ I ^ 

Surrey, is the proud possessor of this extraordinary 
pillar-ljox freak, which was originally made out of an 
old milk-can. Mr. IL R, Blanford, of St. Martin's 
House, Dover College, is the sender of this photo. 

Mr. Harold Hill, of 41 , Victoria Road, Broomhall 
Park t Sheffield] says; **The accomjianying photo- 
graph shows a piece of iron chain embedded in the 
trunk of a tree which was grown in Pad ley Wood, 
Derbyshire. It is impossible to say how the chain 
became embedded, but the links of ihe chain can be 
seen on both sides of the block of wood as shown on 
the left-hand side of the photo. The iron was not 
noticed in the first place until an attempt was made to 
cut the tree across. The wood is very much discoloured 
where ii. has been in contact with the chain, which 
appears to have been embedded many years." 

iginai Troim 


The unfortunate beasts shown here were surprised 
by a thunderstorm away from all shelter. Thunder- 
storms are frequent in this region, on the foothills of 
the Rockies, but it Ls seldom that cattle suffer* The 
miserable animals whose carcasses can be seen in the 
photo, got too near the wire fence! which* acting as a 
conduct or, became for an instant a perfect electrocut- 
ing machine. Mis* N. Oliver- Rutherford , Edgerston, 
Jedburgh, N.B. , kindly sends this photo. 

The bass shown hooked on the thorn of a tree came 
there through its own folly entirely. During the 

high waters in the beginning of [So 7 Lost Creek, 
in Miami Co*, Ohio, ami tic co unity around became 
flooded , and the fishes, finding a wider area for their 
rambles, started up country. This poor creature was 
trapped, however, in the manner shown, and was still 
hanging 011 the tree in Sept., i$99, when Mr. Perry 
McKlwain, of Gisstuwn, Ohio, sent us this picture. 

Here is an extraordinary freak of Nature* 
It is the portrait of the night- flowering Sinus, 
uhich only blooms at night, and, curiously 

enough, the blossom only lasts a single night. They 
are lovely flowers, says the sender, Mr. G. M. N. 
Ramsay, of Drumore, Blairgowrie, N.B., and their 
portraits have to be taken by lamplight and a mirror, 
which in this case was done by Mr, G. H. Ramsay, 
Karachi, India. 

■ 1 


by Google 

Mr, r\ L. Sinclair, of New Market, New Hamp- 
shire, has taken a photo, of three men in a *coat. 
This extraordinary garment is a hotiti-fidf one, and 
measured 7 2 in. around the wai*t and 84m. a round 
the chest. 

Original from 



Sir A, Baird's estate of 
Rick art on, near Stone- 
haven. She manages 
the croft entirely by 
herself, and in addition 
possesses a turning- 
lathe with which she 
augments her income 
by making wooden 
farm im pie men is. The 
inclosed photo, of 
1 Cecie J ( by which name 
she is known in the 
neigh bourhoud) was 
taken while competing 
in the local ploughing 
match, which she won, 
Ifealingall the men," 


The scene repre* 
sen ted in this photo. 

The accompanying photograph is one of a 
railway train emerging from a tunneL Ir 
is carved out of a single piece of si one. 
The block is join, long by 15m* wide by Sin. 
thick* This probably quite unique piece of 
work was the property of a late well known 
engine-driver on the Lancashire and York- 
shire Railway, Mr. William W ha I ley, of 
Blackburn. It was carved by a working 
stonemason friend named Stocks. The 
photograph is sent lis by Mr. Leonard King 
Wilkinson, of Middle wood, near CHtheroe, 
tfi whom and whose eldest brother the stone 
wm \ equea t h ed by t he la t e w n e r . Ph u t r >. 
by Mr. R. P. (iregson, F.R.P.S,, Blackburn. 

Miss Hannah Glegg, of 19;, Ferry Road, 
1-eith, Edinburgh, in sending ibis interesting 
photo.* says . ** A woman who can plough is 
certainly a rarity, but a woman who ploughs 
the soil which yields our daily bread i>, I 
think, unique* Cecilia Wood, who boast* 
this proud distinction* lives on a croft on 

3y Google 


is that of certain tenants of 
his late Grace the Duke of 
Hamilton digging for coal in 
the l>ed of the River Avon, 
which flows through his 
policies known as the **High 
Parks." The seam of coal 
curiously crops up here iniu 
the bed of the river, so that 
when the water is low the 
adjoining tenants, who oc- 
cupy the hamlet of Avon- 
bank, habitually enter the 
stream and dig their years 
supply of fuel from this ex- 
traordinary source. Mr* 
David Miller, solicitor, of 52, 
Cadzow Street, Hamilton* 
very kindly sends this inter- 
esting instance of coal ad lr&. 





The men on the wires were watching I he parade given 
in honour of Captain Dyer* of the cruiser Baitwt&*£ % rirst 
co m man tier under Dewey" at Manila, Not being able to 
see from the ground in the vast crowd, they climbed the 
jx>le, and a very few venturesome ones crawled out on 
the wires, Besides being in danger of falling, they were 
also very much in dinger of being killed by electricity. The 
v\ ires supply heavy current for (he sluji.* railway <m [lis 

A SKA-MONS-] |.K. 

The sea - monster shown herewith almost 
caused a Puget Sound lighthouse -keeper to 
lose his position. One day he made this mon- 
itor, with the aid of a saw, a little led paint, 
and some shells for eyes and teeth. He told a 
reporter (confide ntially} that a sea - monster 
had come ashore at his station. This news 
appeared in the paper and caused several hun- 
dreds of people lo trudge to the Light to see 
the curiosity* Some were disappointed, and 
sent urgent demands to the Light house Board, 
asking the discharge oT the deceptive keeper. 
The Board, however, regarded the joke in the 
manner intended, and added the monster to 
their collection of curiosities at head-quarters. 
Mr. J. G; McCundy, of Port Townsend, 
Washington, has sent this amusing picture. 

street. If the in nidation of the wires should happen lo have 
been worn, they would have been killed immediately* They- 
w.ere about 25ft. or 30ft, from the pavement* This picture 
was taken on September 12th, 1S99, by Mr. Leo Crane, 
1729, Aiken Street, Baltimore, Md, 

Many are the relics that have been brought home by 
American soldiers as souvenirs *J the war with Spain, and 
among those there is, perhaps, none more curious or out of 
the way than this wooden gun strengthened with iron Irands 
and clamps. The man who made it was a patriot ; the man 
who fired it was a hero. We have received this photo, from 
Mr. M*« C. Craft, of San Francisco. 

Mr. W. H. Brown, of 
St. Bathans, Otago, New 
Zealand, has taken this 
remarkable instance of frets t 
in an inhabited room. The 
bursting of this water-jug 
through I he freezing trf 
the water inside was 
cause* 1 by (j nc night's frost 
only, and is a remarkable 
instance oF the severity 
of the late winter in 
that locality. A man 
was sleeping in the same 
room. Bir 1 1 ! 

w by 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 



fSes pagt 131.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 



No. no. 

Secret Service. 

By Walter Ragge. 

Author of " The Face at the Door:' 

IR WILLIAM is very un- 
well, Mr. Risingham," said 
the old butler ; " I doubt he's 
too unwell to see you, sir. 
If I've turned one patient 
away this morning I've turned 
a 'undred. Influenza it is, sir. Caught him 

Risingham slipped something into the 
butler's hand. Wonderful is the healing 
power of gold. Surely, no other mineral 
known to science can by external applica- 
tion to one body reduce the fever in another ! 
" If you'll step into this room, sir, I'll 
speak to Dr. Parsons ; he's with Sir William 
all day now, sir, doin' some of his work 
for him. I've no doubt Sir William will be 
able to see you in a moment, sir." 

Risingham walked into the waiting-room, 
while the butler trotted noiselessly upstairs, 
and sat down on one of those huge, 
dark, comfortable chairs that lurk in the 
waiting-rooms of fashionable physicians. He 
tried to concentrate his attention on the 
morning's Twits; his own name occurred 
more than once in a leading article and again 
in the Parliamentary reports, but he could 
not read. The thousands of anxious sufferers 
who had waited in that great, gloomy room 
must have filled the air with microbes of 
uneasiness and self-distrust. It was in vain 
that Risingham told himself that he was 
visiting Sir William merely to make assur- 
ance doubly sure that his health was good ; 
that nothing but a little overwork and 
perhaps late hours — that, in short, he was 
as fit as possible, as fit as a man should be 
who was about to be married. It was no 
use : he was in the great doctor's house, and 
the irrational, inexpressible fear that lies in 
wait there even for the healthy had seized 
him by the throat He jumped to his feet 
with a laugh of self-contempt, and began to 
walk round the room, looking as his pre- 
decessors had looked at the great, dark 
portraits that hung on every wall. 

" I'm like a fussy old maid," he said to 
Vol. xiz.-16 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

himself. " Thirty-two, as strong as a horse, 
never had anything the matter with me, and 
here I am twittering as if I were a medical 
dictionary, full of diseases from one side to 
the other. It's this gloomy hole, I expect. 
That old boy " — he was looking at the picture 
over the door — " his face is ugly enough to 
give anyone the blues. Looks as if there 
were something pretty bad the matter with 
him. I wonder who he was? Oh, there's 
the name : * John Pinton, of Pinton Hall.' 
That's Sir William's grandfather, I remember. 
Well, it's lucky for him as a fashionable 
physician that the faces of our forefathers 
are not always fixed upon us as their 
sins, their little tendencies to drink, their 
diseases " 

He stopped short. Suddenly with startling 
clearness there came back to him the memory 
of his own grandfather's death. He had 
been a child at the time, and though grieving 
for his father's bitter sorrow he had not 
understood, and his parents had never spoken 
of that dreadful month. But he knew that 
the old man had suffered terribly from the 
disease that killed him. What if that 

The door opened. 

" Sir William can see you, sir," said the 
butler ; " Til take you up to his room at 
once, sir." 

Risingham followed the old man upstairs, 
chafing at his slowness, and was ushered 
into Sir William's bedroom. The great 
physician was lying in bed, propped up with 
pillows ; on a small table at the bedside two 
deadly-looking little bottles and a granulated 
glass were standing. A dark, clean-shaved 
man was standing by the bed : he advanced 
to meet Risingham, holding a bundle of 
papers in his hand. 

" Good morning, Mr. Risingham," he said, 
quietly. " Sir William has, I'm sorry to say, 
almost lost his voice for the time being. He 
has decided to see you, however, and if you 
will tell him your symptoms, he will, I hope, 
be able to write directions for you — or, if not, 




to dictate to me later in the day. I am Dr. 
Parsons. 1 shall be in the consulting- room 
downstairs if you care to leave any message 
later. Good day/' and he passed out of the 
room, leaving Risinghani and the physician 

Risingham approached the bed. 


" I'm so sorry to see that you're so ill, Sir 
William/ 1 he began, but the doctor cut him 
short with an impatient wave of the hand, 
and, sitting down in a chair at the bedside, he 
began to recount his symptoms. Sir William 
heard him to the end without a sign ; then, 
with a slight smile on his handsome, stern 
old face, he motioned to his patient to come 

" I think," he began, in a hoarse whisper, 
"that I can deal w T ith your case vivavoce^ 
Mr. Risingham* There's nothing- w 

But he had overrated his powers. The 
exertion brought on a violent choking fit of 
coughing ; the old man lay back spent and 

Digitized by GoOgic 

shaken j and signed to Risingham to leave 
him. Risingham got up, and stood looking 
doubtfully at the doctor's face. A peevish 
frown contracted the bushy eyebrows ; the 
lips moved, but no words were audible, and 
the thin, white hand still pointed to the 
door. Reluctantly the disappointed patient 
bowed and left the room. 
On reaching the consulting- 
room door he knocked and 
entered. Dr, Parsons was 
writing at the desk. 

« Finished?" he asked, 
with a smile, 

"Well, no," said Rising- 
ham ; " I told him my symp- 
toms, and he was about to 
speak, but a sudden attack 

of coughing " 

"That was what I feared," 
said Dr. Parsons. " He must 
not speak above a whisper, 
and even that, but I will 
get him to write out any 
directions, Mr. Risingham, 
and send them to you as 
early as possible this after- 
noon. 5 ' 

11 This afternoon ? " re- 
peated Risingham ; " but if 
I wait, couldn't you get it 
done this morning?" 

"No, I fear not* There is 
another patient — now, don't 
be angry, sir ; it is a case of 
great urgency, and terribly 
trying and distressing, not 
only to the patient, but to 
Sir William also." 

"What is it?" asked 
Risingham, shortly* 

"No, my dear sir, I'm 
afraid that wouldn't be cor- 
rect, I cannot possibly tell 

you that Etiquette Oh, must you go ? 

James, show Mr. Risingham — good morning." 
Risingham muttered a reply and went out. 
As he stood in the doorway buttoning his 
glove a small brougham with a splendid bay 
mare in the shafts dashed up, stopping oppo- 
site Sir William's house. A tall man stepped 
out, and roughly pushing aside his footman, 
who had made a motion as if to assist him, 
he hurried up the steps. Risingham saw 
his face : he was Sir Charles Adair, one of 
the leaders of society at the moment 

"Good morning, Sir Charles/ 3 said he, 
holding out his hand. 
The other looked at him for a moment, 
Original from 




but without any sign of recognition, and 
hurried into the house, the door of which 
was still held open by the obsequious James. 
Risingham went on his way, wondering. 

"Poor devil," he said, at last, " he's the 
patient that fellow was talking of, I suppose. 
He's pretty bad, I'm afraid. Never saw such 
a look in a face before. Bah ! I can't get it 
out of my mind. Poor devilj poor devil ! ?J 
and getting into a hansom he drove off 
towards Pall Mall . . . . 

The newsboys had something better to cry 
out that evening than " Latest Scores " or 
41 Winners." As Risingham came out of his 
club after writing innumerable letters he was 
nearly knocked down by a stalwart ruffian 
bearing a mass of pink paper in his arms and 
yelling, at the top of his voice, (i Sooeysoide 
of a Hem, P. 'Orrible death of Sir Charles 
Adair ! » 

Risingham was filled with horror and com- 
passion. His club had been almost empty, 
and he had not looked at the latest telegrams 
on the board in the hall This was a 
horrible way to hear of the death of a man 
who was almost a friend, whom he had seen 
that very morning. He bought a paper and 
read. The poor wretch had shot 
himself in his own house at about 
two o'clock that afternoon. 

" I wonder," said Risingham to 
himself, ** what the doctor told 

When he reached his rooms, 
with an effort he shook off all these 
gloomy thoughts, and wrote a cheer- 
ful letter to Gladys Humphrey, 
who before July was out would 
be Gladys Risingham. It seemed 
a desecration to write to her any- 
where but in the quietness of his 
own rooms, and when he had 
finished and dressed for dinner 
he felt a strange sense of help 
and comfort such as comes to some 
few of us after prayer. It was 
past twelve when he returned to 
his rooms, There were three 
letters awaiting him : one from 
his solicitor, the other from a 
friend, and the third in a strange 
handwriting. He sent his man to 
bed and sat down to read, begin- 
ning with the letter addressed in 
the unknown, tottering handwrit- 
ing. He opened it and saw, with 
an indescribable thrill, that it was 
dated from Sir William Pinton's 
house. This was what he read :— 

"Dear Sir,— I was unabie to tell you 
before you left me so hurriedly this morning 
all I had meant to say* You must make 
excuses for me ; I am very far from well- I 
think, however, that you gathered my mean- 
ing. I am very sorry to say that I do not 
think an operation could have more than a 
merely temporary effect. The disease has 
been left unchecked too long. I will not 
insult you by commiserating w T ith you \ I 
am not a clergyman, and do not say that it 
is God's will that the sins of the fathers 
should be visited on the children. But it is 
the way in which this world is managed. I 
am very incoherent, I fear. I am very sorry 
for you. It is my duty to tell you not to 
hope anything from violent measures. If 
cancer reaches a certain point it is beyond 
surgery. . * . " 

The letter vanished from Risingham's 
sight in eddying, black mists ; he seemed to 
be whirled away to an immeasurable distance 
and to be looking down on the world as a 
stage where puppets leaped and ran, dwindled 
and swelled before his eyes. He saw the 
old break fast -room at home, saw his mother 
sitting pale and anxious at the table, saw his 

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111*1. E0 AWAY, 


1 ]']•: SftEMEJJ TO I 




father enter, and read again in his haggard 
face the news that his grandfather was dead. 
He saw himself pacing the doctors waiting- 
room ; saw Sir Charles Adair hurrying up 
the doctor's steps, and then with a sudden 
shock he found himself sitting in his own 
arm-chair and saying, aloud, " He must have 
told Adair something of this sort." 

Yes, that was it : he remembered the 
fierce despair that he had read in the poor 
wretch's haggard face ; he had come to hear 
the worst, had heard it, gone home, and 
killed himself. The sins of the fathers — 
yes, that was the way the world was made. 
The power that arranged these things knew 
how to strike — death, such a death, would 
have been hard to bear even for Gilbert 
Risingham, the struggling barrister of twenty- 
seven, in his lonely chambers ; how much 
harder was it for the successful man, the 
rising member of Parliament; how intoler- 
ably hard and cruel for the accepted lover of 
Gladys Humphrey ! Adair had found the 
short way out of his troubles. Should he 
follow his example ? No ; suicide might be 
allowed to the lonely man : the Lords of 
Life and Death had closed that door for 
him ; he must give no pain to others where 
he could avoid it : he must die like a gentle- 
man, must play the game out to the end. 

" No unnecessary pain," he muttered to 
himself, and, rising, crossed the room to his 
writing-desk. " I will write to Gladys to- 
night and give her up. She need never 
know. She is too proud to ask for reasons 
if I give none. I will just say that I cannot 
marry her." 

He sat biting his pen for some time ; then 
with a violent effort of will he began to 
write : " Dear Gladys— or perhaps I should 
say Miss Humphrey — it is with great regret 
that I discover that the exigencies of my 
career compel me for the present to abandon 
all thoughts of matrimony. I cannot say 
when these complications will cease, and do 
not wish you to wait for such a consumma- 
tion." " Consummation " he scratched out, 
then, after a pause, substituted "cessation." 
" Therefore, dear Miss Humphrey, I have no 
alternative but to restore to you your freedom 
from any engagement to me, and to remain, 
yours sincerely, Gilbert Risingham." 

He read the letter through, with a grim 
smile ; then having sealed, stamped, and 
addressed it, he took his hat and went out to 
post it. This done, he returned to his rooms 
and sat down again to think. 

" They, whoever they may be," he said to 
himself, " have struck at my love and at my 

career. Well, I have answered one stroke. 
Gladys will give me up : by Jove, she might 
even be glad to hear that I was dead. Well 
played there, I flatter myself. Now for my 
career. But first let's have another look at 
this letter." He picked it up from the floor 
and read the concluding sentence: "Since 
you were so anxious to know the limit that I 
set to your powers of fighting this terrible 
disease, I must tell you, though it is not 
according to my custom — I fear you cannot 
live for more than six months." 

" Poor, poor old ass," muttered Rising- 
ham, " talking about his ' custom.' As if I 
cared for customs or etiquette now. Well, 
one can't do much in six months. I'm afraid 
that my career must be counted as one to the 
enemy. No, by Jove, I won't give in yet." 

He looked at his watch. " Half-past one. 
I'll give the matter a thorough thinking out." 
So saying, he settled himself down in his 
chair with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He 
sat like this for three hours without moving, 
without speaking — then he sprang lightly to 
his feet. 

"Yes, that's it," he said, striking his 
hand on the table. "I'll go and see him 
to-morrow morning — this morning, rather. 
Mustn't shock Roberts by sitting here ; better 
get to bed. Decency before all things." 
He opened the window and looked out into 
the night. There was no moon, but the 
stars shone clearly in the absolutely cloudless 

" Yes, my friends the enemy," said Rising- 
ham, waving his hand vaguely towards the 
heavens, " I mayn't be able to beat you, but, 
by George, I'll spoil your win for you." So 
saying, he went to bed, where his man found 
him in the morning. 

" Breakfast at once, please, Roberts," said 
he, " and have a hansom at the door at nine 

Still firm in his determination to avoid the 
unusual, Risingham made desultory but des- 
perate attacks upon the breakfast. 

" You needn't come down," he said, light- 
ing a cigarette. "The hansom is at the 
door ? Very good." 

He strolled leisurely downstairs and 
stepped into the hansom, giving the address 
as he did so. " Nothing out of the way, so 
far," he said to himself; "rather early for 
me to be about, that's all." 

He arrived safely at the house of the 
Great Man, paid the driver his proper fare, 
disregarded his improper language, and rang 
the bell. He was well known to the Great 
Man's satellites, though not to the Great 

by L^OOgle 

j 1 1 1 .' 1 1 1 




Man himself, the reason being that the 
present holder of the Great Tost, which 
must not be mentioned here, had taken over 
house and footman from his predecessor, 
who was a friend of Risingham's. 

u His lordship is in the study, sir," said 
the youthful footman, conquering his surprise 
at seeing a visitor at such an hour, 

" Show me in, then," said Risingham, 

In another moment he stood in the Great 

" I fear my visit must appear unusual," he 
said, quietly ; " but it is important" 

ordinary way ; that is now, I grieve to say, 
impossible. Nothing remains, therefore* but 
to find an extraordinary way." 

"Pardon me," said the Great Man, with 
his eyes fixed on Risingham, " I do not 
follow you, I'm afraid, I have had the 
pleasure of hearing you speak before now, 
but at present " 

" Quite sOj" answered Risingham, blandly ; 
" I will put it in a nutshell 1 am con- 
demned to death — not by the law, at least 
not by man's law, which only punishes; but 
by that other law that indulges in jokes and 
blood feuds and such antiquated freaks — no, 


" Quite so, quite so," replied the Great 
Man, eyeing him curiously ; " pray sit down, 
Mr. — er — Mr. Risingham/' 

The two men sat down opposite each 

£i I must begin at the beginning, I'm 
afraid," said Risingham. " I knoiv we belong 
to opposite parties, but I must ask you to 
believe me in this, that, next to one thing 
only, which thing I have successfully elim- 
inated, the dearest w T ish of my heart all 
through my life has been the welfare of my 

The Great Man bowed, shooting a most 
questioning glance at his guest's face the 

"I had hoped to serve my country in the 

Digitized by G< 

I will be quite plain with you, sir. I am 
suffering from an incurable disease — oh, I 
assure you it's quite a common incident I 
have six months at the outside in which to 
do any work I can find to do for my country, 
Well, sir, I have thought it out : six months 
is too short a time for building up, but not 
for pulling down. I could devise nothing 
new in that period which could benefit the 
nation, especially as Parliament won't be 
sitting for more than half of it. But I 
could remove something that is an obstacle, 
a very serious obstacle, in England's path. 
And that is why I have come to you, sir, 
With your help I may do more in those six 
months than I could have done in sixty 
years. I put myself in your hands: you 




do not often get such an instrument as a 
desperate man, with no fear either of this life 
or the next, with no wish but the good of his 
country. Use me, sir ; I shall not fail you, 
and," he added, with a laugh, " 111 pay all 
expenses : so you need not fear the British 

The two men looked at one another in 
silence ; then, " This is a strange proposition, 
Mr. Risingham," said the Great Man; "you 


" I mean this, sir," interrupted Risingham, 
with growing excitement, " there is no need 
to mention names ; I wish to free your 
lordship from all dangerous responsibility. 
I am here; I put myself in your hands; 
there are many obstacles to be removed ; I 
wish to remove that which is most dangerous 
to the State ; in your position at this moment 
you are better fitted to judge than I, so I 
come to you and ask you to choose the 
obstacle that is to go." 

" Obstacle ! " murmured the Great Man. 

" Yes, sir, obstacle," went on Risingham, 
impatiently. " I could name one, sir, not 
many miles from Pretoria." 

The Great Man rose slowly to his feet. 

"That is your meaning, then," he said, 
softly — " murder ? " 

" No ; single-handed war, sir," was the 
answer. " One death, for mine doesn't 
count, I'm dead already ; one death, on the 
one side, and freedom and wealth for millions 
on the other. Choose that, sir; choose 
that, and, by George, I'll beat them yet." 

" Them ? " said the Great Man, interroga- 

" They, whoever they may be, who have 
played this joke on me, and tried to throw 
me on the rubbish-heap before my time," 
said Risingham, fiercely. 

"Ah, quite so," was the answer; "quite 
so. Well, Mr. Risingham, these are deep 
waters. I understand you to be desirous of 
helping your country and avenging yourself 
on these mysterious powers, who, you say, 
have injured you? Very good. And you 
wish to do that — by removing an obstacle. 
We will keep to your excellent rule of 
naming no names, if you please. You say 
you are especially fitted for this task. You 
can obey ? " 

" I can," replied Risingham. 

" Very good. Then be in your chambers 
at four o'clock this afternoon, please. I will 
send my agents to you then, and you will 
kindly obey their instructions and answer 
any questions they may put to you. You 
understand ? " 

by Google 

" Yes, sir," said Risingham. " I give you 
my word. I am at your orders now. Only 
use me well. Good-bye." 

The two men shook hands, looking each 
other in the eyes, and Risingham went out 
with a light heart. The Great Man on the 
other hand heaved a sigh, and muttering to 
himself, " Poor fellow, poor fellow ! " sat down 
at his desk. He wrote two notes and rang 
the bell. " Charles," he said, to the young 
footman who appeared to answer it, "get 
into a hansom and drive with these notes to 
Dr. Waters and Dr. Peterson, and bring an 
answer from each of them. Go at once." 

The footman departed, and the Great Man 
settled himself down to his morning's work. 

Meanwhile Risingham was dashing about 
London : to his chambers at the Temple ; to 
his rooms to give Roberts some orders about 
the reception of his visitors that afternoon ; 
and, finally, to an Indian and Colonial out- 
fitter. Here he gave orders for an extensive 
supply of various articles, beginning with 
khaki breeches and ending with a revolver. 
It was now past two, and he began to feel 
both hungry and tired. The nervous tension 
was telling on him already ; he was holding 
himself in too tightly. 

" Hang it, I must stay better than this, or 
I shall crumple up before the race is half 
over," he said to himself. " I'll try what 
a bottle of fizz can do. Excellent thing, 
stimulant, when a horse is getting overdone 
and stale." 

He went into a restaurant that adjoined 
the outfitter's and ordered lunch, and the 
morning paper, which he had not yet seen. 
There was a long account of Adair's death. 
"The unhappy man," he read, "had long 
suffered from hereditary cancer ; he had, so 
Sir William Pinton informs us, been des- 
perately seeking for a cure. On the morning 
of his death he paid Sir William a visit, and 
entreated him to operate, or at least to hold 
out some hopes of a successful operation. 
This Sir William was unable to do ; but with- 
out listening to his advice, Sir Charles rushed 
hurriedly away. Sir William informs our 
representative that a letter with full direc- 
tions was forwarded to Sir Charles's rooms 
without delay, but the unhappy man had 
killed himself immediately on reaching 
home, and could not have received it. Sir 
William, who is in delicate health, was 
naturally much distressed by this terrible 

"Much distressed at losing a valuable 
patient," said Risingham to himself. " Well, 
he's lost two, but the second won't make 

Original from 



quite such a splash — at least y not just yet. 
Confounded old hypocrite, why doesn't he 
turn his knowledge to some account ? He's 
got more than six months, why doesn't he 
find a cure ? There, there, steady, old horse. 
Bottle of '43, please, waiter," 

After lunch Risingham sat and smoked 
for about an hour, and then strolled 
leisurely towards his rooms. It was past four 
o'clock when he reached his own door. 
The afternoon was close and sultry, and one 
of those fogs that settle down on London in 
such weather made the little entrance-hall of 
his chambers almost dark. He opened the 
door of his smoking-room and went in. A 
woman who had been standing at the window 
turned sharply round as he entered, ran 
swiftly across the room towards him, and 
threw her arms about his neck. 

"Oh, Gilbert, my poor darling," she cried, 
" how glad lam you have come back, and 
how you must have suffered." 

He had hardened himself for nearly every- 
thing that Fate could bring, but not for this. 
"Gladys," he said, hoarsely, "why have you 
come? Oh, my God, they've beaten me." 
And pushing her away, he flung himself 
into a chair and buried his face in his 

In an instant she was on her knees at his 
side. "Oh, Gilbert," she cried, "it's all a 
mistake. That letter was not for you." He 
lifted his head and stared into her face, 

VoL rit-lT. 


"What do you mean?'* he said slowly, 
pausing between each word, 

"It's a mistake," she went on, still kneel- 
ing beside him, "a terrible mistake. That 
letter, that dreadful letter, was meant for Sir 
Charles Adair, wm\ not for you. See, here is 
yours — it was found in the poor man's rooms 
to-day ; we found it, Dr. Parsons and L" 

" I>r. Parsons?" said Risingham, vaguely, 
wondering whether this were not some fan- 
tastic dream, 

" Yes, my dearest, Dr. Parsons. I got your 
letter, your poor letter, this morning, not an 
hour after I had your first letter. 1 came 
here at once. Roberts- told me that he did 
not know where you had gone, but that you 
would be back at four o'clock. I asked him 
if you were ill, and he said no, and then I 
said I would wait and come in here, and 
here I saw that terrible letter. I drove 
round to Sir William's and showed it him, 
and told him who I was, and then he told 
me that he had written to you to tell you 
that you needed nothing but a little rest, 
and that this letter was for poor Sir Charles. 
Then Dr. Parsons and I went to Sir Charles's 
rooms, and there we found it — see, it begins : 
* Dear Mr. Risingham/ though the envelope 
was addressed to Sir Charles, Oh, my 
darling, my poor, tortured darling, it is all 
right now," and she burst into tears, clinging 
closely round his neck. 

He was so still and held himself so 
straight that after a few seconds she 
looked up anxiously into his face. 

"Oh, Gilbert," she cried, aghast at 

what she saw there, " what is it ? There 

is nothing else?" His lips moved, 

but for some moments he could 

not speak. Then at last, " Beaten," 

he muttered, forcing his 

lips into a horrible 

travesty of a smile. " Clean 

bowled, this time. They're 

too strong for me, 

Gladys, much too 

strong/ 1 

" Who are too 
strong ? " she cried, 
watching his face 
with eyes full of 
dreadful expecta- 
tion. "What is it, 
Gilbert? Tell me, 
I am strong, I can 
help you, and oh ! 
my dearest, dearest 

Original fr^; w ^ did V™ 



My place is with you always. Tell me what 
you mean. Oh, quick, Gilbert ; tell me, 
tell me." 

" I cannot tell you, Gladys," said the poor 
fellow, struggling to speak quietly ; " at least, 
not all. I thought I was condemned to die, 
that I had lost you, that I had six months to 
live. I meant to make use of those six 
months, and pledged myself to do something 
that may help my country, but must cause 
my death." 

" But you were mistaken : they cannot 
hold you to your promise now. Tell them it 
is all a terrible mistake, and they will release 
you, Gilbert." 

Risingham shook his head. "No, my 
dear, dear girl," he answered, sadly ; " I am 
bound : I went of my own accord, not to a 
friend, but to one who is, in public, an 
opponent ; I pledged myself to him ; if I 
break that pledge, if I " 

" Do not break it then, Gilbert," cried the 
girl ; " go to him and promise that as long 
as you live you will never breathe a word of 
what he said to you to a living soul — go to 
him now at once and tell him that." 

Risingham smiled sadly down into her 
eager, tear-stained face. 

u I can't do it, Gladys," he said. " He 
said little, it is true ; but he would never 
have said a word to one who was not about 
to die. I cannot tell what another man 
might feel. I must decide for myself as 
best I can, Gladys." 

He stopped abruptly : there was a ring at 
the bell : he looked hastily at the clock : it 
was nearly half-past four. "They are here, 
Gladys," he said, in a fierce whisper. " You 
must go : no, no, you mustn't stop me now. 
There is nothing to hope for, my own dearest 
girl, nothing : but if you will wait till they 
are gone we can say good-bye. Now go— go 
into that room." 

He opened the door that led into his 
dining-room, and almost thrust her through 
it. " Be brave," he whispered, and stooping 
he kissed her hand, then hurried back into 
the smoking-room, closing and locking the 
door behind him. At the same moment the 
outer door opened and Roberts appeared. 

" Two gentlemen to see you, sir. Are you 
disengaged ? I told them you was hout, sir, 
but they insisted on waiting. Strangers, sir, 
and give no names." 

" SJiow them in here at once, please, 
Roberts," said Risingham, quietly. 

The discreet servant vanished. Reappear- 
ing almost immediately, he ushered in two 
gentlemen, whom he favoured with a search- 

ing glance of the deep mistrust that every 
good servant has for those who give no name. 

" Two gentlemen to see you, sir," he re- 
peated, unnecessarily, and then departed, 
softly closing the door. 

Risingham looked keenly at his visitors. 
They were both men of middle age, well, 
though quietly, dressed, and as far as appear- 
ances went of a perfectly common-place 
gentility, with nothing of the conspirator about 
them. " Good evening," he said, quietly ; " I 
have been expecting you. Pray sit down." 

Gladys Humphrey had heard the step of 
Roberts retreating towards his pantry, and 
knew that the arbiters of her lover's destiny 
and her own were now alone with Risingham, 
not ten yards from where she stood. She 
hurried on tiptoe to the door and listened. 
It was useless : the voices came to her in- 
distinctly ; she could not catch the words. 

" I will hear what they say," she muttered, 
clenching her hands together and pacing the 
room in an agony of mingled hopes and fears. 

The window was open, and as she passed 
it she suddenly heard the voice of one of 
the strangers. "Well, Mr. Risingham," 
he was saying, "let us come . . . . " 
and then she could hear nothing but 
unmeaning sound. She looked out of the 
window : below her was the narrow strip of 
garden that belonged to these buildings ; 
it was empty. Outside the smoking-room 
window was a low and narrow balcony meant 
to hold nothing more substantial than a 
flower-box : would it bear her weight ? She 
hesitated: then again she caught the in- 
distinguishable murmur of words that must 
mean so much for her lover and herself. 

" I will hear," she said again, " I will learn 
their secret ; then, if I can't stop him, at least 
I can make him take me with him." 

She stepped out on to the sill : it was about 
a foot wide, and extended some three or 
four feet beyond the side of the window. 
Then came a gap of three feet and then the 
broader sill on which stood the little iron 
balcony. Two bold steps and the thing 
could be done. Gladys had lived all her life 
in the country : she knew her strength, she 
thought she could trust her nerves. Stepping 
back into the room she kicked off her shoes, 
climbed once more on to the sill, and 

" What a coward, what a beastly coward," 
she said, half aloud. " Fve made up my 
mind to listen like a spy : IVe made up my 
mind to go with him and die with him, and 
yet I can't let go of this curtain. I will — 
I will 1 " 




She did it; did it with a suddenness that 
nearly precipitated her into the garden below. 
In another second she was clinging, white 
and shaken, to the bars of the little balcony. 

" Pray God they didn't hear," she mur- 

The voices in the smoking-room went on, 
undisturbed. With a last effort she climbed 
over the low rail and flattened herself against 
the wall close beside the window. Rising- 
ham was speaking, and she heaved a sigh of 
relief: she could hear every word now. 

11 1 suggested President Kruger," he was 
saying ; " I could think of no other indi- 
vidual whose death would be of so great 
service to England at the present moment." 

"Precisely, "answered one of the strangers, 
in a soft, smooth voice, " President Kruger. 
You have no personal animus in the matter, 
I believe ? n 

" None at all," said Risingham ; " I merely 
wish to do what is of the greatest advantage 

"You would have no objections to coming 
with us ? " 

" None." 

** Very good, Mr. Risingham. Your 
mission then is settled. You have deter- 
mined, you say, to serve the State by remov- 
ing an obstacle, that is, in plain language — 
we need not fear to use plain language— by 
killing someone whom you consider especially 
dangerous to England?" 

" No, I left that to you, or rather to your 
chief," said Risingham. " I will do the 
deed and take the consequences -all the con- 
sequences. But I left it to those who are 
in a better position to judge of such things 
than I to decide whose death would be 
the most beneficial to England at the time." 

"Just so, just so; and you suggest Pre- 
sident Kruger? Well, I think this is quite 
satisfactory ? " 

" Quite," replied a deep voice that Gladys 
had not heard. 


to England. As I pointed out this morning, 
I can do no service ; at least, I thought 
1 could do none — save by removing an 

"Just so; and you would be prepared to 
start at once ? " 

" Almost at once," 

"Perfectly satisfactory. And now, Mr. 
Risingham, shall we be moving ? w 

There was a sound of chairs being pushed 
back ; Gladys could bear the strain of wait- 
ing no longer, rihe dashed through the open 
French window into the room, and startled 
the fcor^ira^i3fe^£H*Sfi* f their lives - 

1 3 2 


She turned to the shorter and stouter of the 
two strangers, detect';^, with the woman's 
instinct, that his was the master spirit. 

11 Oh, sir," she began, and stopped dead ; 
words would not come. Then, "It's all a 
mistake," she went on. " No, you must 
listen to me. He made the promise madly, 
foolishly — no, don't stop me, Gilbert. He 
thought that he was going to die. This 
letter, see ! " she ran to the table and picked 
up Sir William's letter, that was still lying 
there. " It came to him instead of to Sir 
Charles Adair. It was all a mistake. You 
see that now, don't you ? And you will let 
him go free ? We will swear to be secret or 
— or if he must go, let me go with him — I 
must — I will go with him." 

She stood, gasping for breath, her eyes 
fixed on the stranger's face. Risingham 
slowly approached her. 

" It's no good, Gladys," he said, in a low 
whisper ; " I thank you from my heart, my 
dearest, but it's no use." 

Gladys seized his hand in hers, but did 
not for an instant withdraw her eyes from the 
face of the man who was reading the letter. 
He read it through, and then passed it to his 
colleague, who also read it slowly and care- 

Then the two strangers looked at one 
another in silence. "You see?" cried 
Gladys, with a ring of hope in her voice. 

"You received this letter last night, Mr. 
Risingham ? " said the shorter of the two 
strangers, holding up his hand to Gladys to 
warn her to be silent. 

"I did." 

" And believed it to apply to you ? " 


" And that was the reason why you came 
to the Secretary this morning and offered 
yourself for this peculiar service ? " 

" It was." 

"Thank you. Well, I suppose we ought 
to apologize to you ; most certainly we do 

beg this lady's pardon most sincerely for the 
anxiety we have unwittingly caused her ; but 
you, sir, you must acknowledge that you 
brought your own predicament about your- 
self. A man may be about to die, but that 
is no reason for his rushing over London and 
offering himself as a murderer to anyone who 
will save him the trouble of choosing a 

"What do you mean ? " gasped Risingham. 

" Mean ? I mean that this gentleman is 
Dr. Waters and I am Dr. Peterson, very much 
at your service. Two medical men, sir. 
You don't understand the situation ? Well, 
we were sent for to-day by the Secretary, and 
told to interview you with a view to discover- 
ing the state of your mental apparatus, 
Mr. Risingham. And until this lady so 
kindly appeared as a dea ex — ex — flower- 
boxes, I may tell you that we had fully 
determined on signing a paper to the effect 
that you were hopelessly insane. We were 
wrong, it appears. You can trust us both to 
keep the matter secret. And now, good 

The doctors bowed, smiled, and silently 
departed, leaving the lovers together : Rising- 
ham shaken and bewildered still, Gladys 
midway between tears and laughter, each 
holding the other's hand like a pair of children 
in the dark. 

At last Risingham spoke. " What a fool, 
what a beast I've been ! " he cried. " Oh, 
my dear, you ought to give me up. I 
thought poor Adair a coward ; I— I was a 
coward, and a criminal as well. Can you 
forgive me, Gladys ? I — I'll try and make it 
up to you." 

She was crying now and clinging to him. 

"I can't think of anything to say," she 
sobbed, "except that I have got you safe. 
But to-morrow, oh ! to-morrow you are to 
have such a scolding ! You have been very 
foolish, sir, and very wicked ; but — but we'll 
forget that for lo-day." 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


Bv Marie A* Belloc, 

NATIONAL army, like a 
crowned head, cannot make 
any direct reply to criticism 
or to insult, and those of her 
chiefs who come forward as 
her apologists are, not un- 
naturally, accused of partiality or of actual 
complicity in the abuses which are laid to 
her door. Those Englishmen and English- 
women who find it hard at the present time 
to believe that anything good can come out 

but who went through that dread experience 
at a most impressionable age. That he 
should have retained throughout the last 
thirty years so noble and, indeed, so heroic 
a conception of the episodes which went to 
make up "The Terrible Year" says much 
not only for the man himself, but also for his 
comrades in arms, the more so that it has 
been his fate to picture for future genera- 
tions not a victorious but a vanquished army, 
To the casual visitor introduced by some 

of France should study, if only for a brief 
space, the life-work of Edouard Detaille, the 
greatest military painter of modern days, 
who though, as yet, in the prime of life, 
has already achieved an imperishable record 
of his country's past and present military 

ML Detaille is the only military painter 
now living who not only served in the 
ranks and commanded as an officer during, 
perhaps, the greatest war of modern days. 


happy chance into the vast pine-panelled 
studio which is situated just off one of the 
quietest and most spacious of Parisian 
boulevards M. Detaille would seem a soldier 
rather than a painter. His tall, well-knit 
figure gives the impression of a man who 
devotes most of his time to the pursuit of 
athletic exercises and outdoor sports, and 
this is so far the case that his painting 
probably owjes not a little of its life-like 
character to the fact that, whenever it be 



possible, he makes his preliminary studies 
in the open air, and preferably on the very 
spot where the incident he is recording 
actually took place. 

" I owe my first love of, and interest in, 
the army to the fact that my grandfather was 
closely connected with the administrative 
side of Napoleon L's military life ; it was to 
him that the Emperor intrusted the manage- 
ment of some of the most important of his 
transports, and my great-aunt was Madame 
Gamier, the wife of the Admiral Ducrest de 
Villeneuve. Thus my childhood was spent 
among those to whom the very word ' PEm- 
pereur ' conveyed magic memories, and while 
all the world around us was discussing the 
Crimean War, or, later, the Italian campaign, 
my forebears were still fighting the Napoleonic 
battles over again, and recalling to one 
another stories of a far more heroic age than 
the present seemed to them to be." 

" I suppose you early made up your mind 
to become a soldier ? " 

"No, indeed," answered M. Detaille, 
quickly ; "my one ambition was always to be 
an artist. At the time when I had the good 
fortune to enter Meissonier's studio France 
was at peace, and no warning shadows pre- 
saged 1870. In 1867 — that is to say, when I 
was nineteen — I exhibited at the Salon a 
highly finished study of Meissonier's 
studio. Encouraged by a modest success, 
I next year ventured to show a military 
painting, 'The Drummer's Halt,' but, of 
course, I need hardly tell you that this 
piece of work, as, indeed, all those of 
my military studies done before the Franco- 
Prussian War, was an effort of imagi- 
nation. In those days I had no leaning to 
any particular form of art. Like most young 
painters, I wished to study everything. Then 
came the spring and summer of 1870. I 
think," continued M. Detaille, slowly, " that 
it is impossible for any Englishman, however 
sympathetic and intuitive be his perceptions, 
to realize what such a struggle as the 
Franco-Prussian War meant to those engaged 
in it You must suppose before you can 
understand even in a remote degree what a 
Frenchman feels concerning 'Tannic terrible* 
— you must suppose your own country, 
your own beautiful home counties, your 
pretty, peaceful English towns, overrun by an 
invader who, in spite of your desperate 
efforts, gains ground steadily, until he is able 
to impose what you yourself consider intoler- 
able and unfair conditions. Such a war 
becomes in an incredibly short space of 
time a national conflict, in which personal and 

political differences are brushed aside, and 
every able-bodied man is simply in his own 
eyes, and in those of his fellows, a defender 
of his country." 

M. Detaille has every right to speak as a 
representative Frenchman, for, though he 
was himself doubly exempt from military 
service, both as being the eldest son of a 
widow and as having a brother a soldier, he 
lost not a moment in volunteering in the 4th 
Company of the 8th Battalion of Mobiles, and 
it was in this capacity that he was present at 
many of the notable sorties and skirmishes 
round Paris ; he also took part in the Battle 
of Champigny, of which he afterwards 
executed a famous panorama. 

" I suppose you never wholly merged the 
painter in the soldier ? " 

"No; I must admit that my happiest 
moments were spent in sketching under fire. 
My excuse must be that to any artist there 
would have been something absorbingly 
interesting in the lurid scenes by which I 
was constantly surrounded. And yet," he 
added, thoughtfully, "war and its attendant 
horrors are not really picturesque, and, 
though I am so far a realist that I abhor 
the presentation in pictorial art of what 
is not true, I hold most strongly that 
certain battle-scenes ought not to be shown 
in all their naked horror on canvas. I 
will give you one example. Take what 
occurs immediately after a battle. Many 
such scenes are ineffaceably impressed 
upon my mind, but, interesting as it would 
be from some points of view to reconstitute 
the picture, what can be more cruel and, it 
may be added, more useless than to do so ? 
In every disfigured corpse, in every armless 
and legless trunk, those whose loved ones 
have died a glorious death would see a 
terrible vision of the ' may have been/ The 
only time I ever attempted to give that 
touch of real horror to a picture was in a 
painting of mine, entitled ' Un Coup de 
Mitrailleuse,' in reality a reconstitution of 
what I once saw in a hollow lane — namely, a 
mass of soldiery, dismembered and blown to 
pieces by a shell." 

" And as time goes on, do not your im- 
pressions of what then occurred become 
more or less blurred ? " 

" No, indeed ; on the contrary, certain 
scenes and certain episodes tend to become 
clearer, especially those, I am glad to say, 
which reveal the soldier in a heroic and in a 
touching light. As was perhaps not un- 
natural, bitterness overcame every feeling 
during the firsr few months and years which 







i 3 6 


Ffftm th* Pit&NM 6fj 

Bit pcrmiitvjji r>/ Qnttpil d: Go* Pari*. 

followed the war. At the close of the war> 
just before the Commune broke out, I went 
to Holland; but on my return, finding my 
country was still in the occupation of the 
Germans, I painted, as a result, two pictures, 
one of which was entitled ' The Con^ 
querors/ Although it, was sent to the 
Salon of 1872, the Government ordered it 
not to be shown," 

M I suppose you are not one of those who 
deprecate war, and who would like to see 
the great international struggles of the world 
fade away in universal peace ? " 

M It is impossible for one who has fought 
in a war not to realize that warfare brings 
out, as it were, the heroism of which the 
world is always in need, I could tell you 
many incidents of simple, sober, bourgeois 
being transformed by their country's danger 
into true heroes. I would even go so far as 

to say that defeat 
has its noble attri- 
butes. How many 
men I have seen 
go to their death 
animated by the 
spirit which in- 
spired the splendid 
verses of Paul 
Deroulfede, whom 
it has now become 
the fashion to 
laugh at and 
revile : — 

Fn avant ! Taut pis 
pour qui torn be ; 

La moil n'est rien. 
Vitfe la tombe I 

Quuid le pays en sort 
vivant ! 

En avant I" 

" I suppose I 
need hardly ask 
you if you ap- 
prove of conscrip- 

" On the whole, 
I do not/' was 
the unexpected 
answer. " Rightly 
or wrongly, I have 
always held the 
theory that a com- 
mander finds it far 
more easy to 
manage a small 
army of highly- 
trained troops than 
a huge, unwieldy 
mass of men who, 
whatever be their willingness and individual 
valour, have not received the kind of training 
which goes to make a good soldier. I feel 
this to be particularly the case in these days 
of modern warfare, when every month we 
hear of some modification not only in the 
type of arm actually used, but in the more 
complicated pieces of artillery." 

" Do you believe that the motor-car and 
the cycle will play any very great part in the 
wars of the twentieth century ? " 

" Here again I do not much believe in 
the triumph of machines 
Even nowadays what tells 
fare is, first, leadership ; 
right down physical courage ; 
imagination cannot conceive a 
which these two agencies would 

|ij- Dctailit, 

over humanity, 

in modern war- 

andj secondly, 

and my 

battle in 

not each 

play a preponderant part in deciding the 
fortunes of the day." 




11 1 suppose you have not seen actual war- 
fare since the Franco- Prussian War ? " 

u Well, in i88r I obtained leave from 
our Minister of War to join a brigade in 
the Tunis campaign. Of course this little 

North Africa, while the Arabs make, as 
you are probably aware, ideal soldiery." 

"Are you familiar with the appearance 
and the personnel of the English and of the 
other great non- French armies?" 

expedition was extremely interesting to me 
as being quite unlike anything to which I was 
already accustomed, and from an artistic 
point of view there could not be a more 
picturesque and striking background than 


"Yes, I have made a special study of 
what may be grouped together as the modern 
military world. My first visit to England," 
he added, smiling, " was when I was only five 
years of age, and I spoilt our passport by draw- 




ing little pictures all over it. But since that 
far-off day I have been constantly across the 
Channel, and I think I can claim to have 
made a very special study uf the British 
Army. This was made the more easy owing 
to the great courtesy and kindness both of 
the Prince of Wales and of the Duke of 

by Google 

11 1 helieve you have done a portrait of the 
two Royal brothers, which is now in the 
Queen's possession ? " 

'•Yes j and this, I may say, was the first 
large portrait work of the kind I ever 
attempted. This picture was given by the 
Prince of Wales to the Queen as a Jubilee 
gift, and I found the painting of it very 
Original from 




interesting. I often regret that we do not 
see more equestrian portraits nowadays ; to 
my thinking, a man never looks to more 
advantage than when on horseback." 

" I suppose it would be invidious to ask 
you what you think of our leading military 
painters ? " 

" On the contrary, I am keenly interested 
in the really splendid black and white work 
which has been done during the last few 
years by those who so modestly style them- 
selves war specials and war sketchers ; 
but still I must admit that I was surprised, 
when I first went to England, to find 
how comparatively few military painters 
there were, and especially to discover that 
the great military artist of that day was a lady ; 
I refer, of course, to the brilliant painter of 
c The Roll Call '; then again, I greatly admire 
the fine work of Caton Wood vi lie. I cannot 
help thinking that if ever British artists had a 
chance of seeing war at home, there would 
be founded in England a wonderful school 
of military painting. I cannot fancy any 
army more interesting from the painter's 
point of view than the British Army. Of 
course, one thing which strikes the foreigner 
pleasantly in London is the London soldiery. 
Tommy Atkins seems to be ubiquitous, and 
it is wonderful to think that the smart, well- 
turned-out young fellow, who is the cynosure 
of all eyes, was perhaps only yesterday the 
idle good-for-nothing, who seemed determined 
to settle down to no honest work, that most 
miserable of God's creatures. 

"As to whether I have ever done any 
large paintings of British military life, I 
can claim to have exhibited three — one, 
'The Scots Guards Returning from Drill'; 
another, 'The Tower of London,' in which 
I made use of the highly picturesque and 
beautiful uniform of the Yeomen of the 
Guard ; and, thirdly, a somewhat realistic 
presentment of a recruiting station near the 
Houses of Parliament. Both when following 
the manoeuvres at Aldershot and when in 
London, I sketched incessantly at the various 
picturesque types of the British Army. By the 
courtesy of the officer commanding I was 
allowed to make a number of special studies 
of the Horse Guards' equipment, the uniform, 
breastplate, harness, knapsack, and so on." 

" And have you made an equally exhaus- 
tive study of any other European army ? " 

"Yes, of that of Russia; for, in 1884, 
Alexander III. invited me to the camp of 
Krasnoe Selo, and for an unforgettable six 
weeks I accompanied my Imperial host 
everywhere, receiving not only from him, but 

froix: all his entourage, innumerable courtesies 
and kindnesses. I worked exceedingly hard, 
and fortunately for me there were no great 
ceremonies to distract my attention, for we 
all lived, from the Emperor to the youngest 
drummer-boy, the life of soldiers. Of course 
the Russian army is very distinctive ; thus, in 
Russia alone the peasant's costume as now 
worn may be said to have been the proto- 
type of the modern Russian soldier's uniform, 
and each regiment is only distinguished by 
what appear to the non-Russian eye quite 
insignificant distinctions. 

"Another curious peculiarity of the Russian 
army is that there — as must have been the 
case in the great mediaeval armies — is to be 
found every kind of mount. This, of course, 
makes it peculiarly interesting from an artistic 
point of view." 

" I suppose, M. Detaille, that you have 
made a very special study of the Napoleonic 
legions ? " 

" Yes, or perhaps it would be truer to say 
that I have made a special study of the 
French army throughout the eighteenth and 
nineteenth centuries, and, of course, during 
these two hundred years the Napoleonic 
epoch stands out supreme." 

" Your historical work must involve an 
immense amount of study and research," I 
observed, looking round the great studio, 
certain portions of which might well be 
sections of a military museum, for M. 
Detaille is constantly adding to his collection 
of uniforms and arms. 

" Yes, an historical painter must be pre- 
pared to go through a good deal of drudgery 
which, though interesting in itself, does not 
directly bear on his art. When I was pre- 
paring for my large picture, ' The Surrender 
of the Heroic Huningue Garrison,' I not 
only went to the place itself, but I took end- 
less pains to discover a plan and sketches of 
the old fortified town. In order to achieve 
this I put myself in communication with the 
principal residents of Huningue, many of 
whom kindly assisted me by looking among 
their family papers. Again, it was only by 
diligent seeking that I discovered the, in 
most cases, private family portraits of the 
principal defenders of the heroic city ; and 
I had to go to Vienna for the portraits of 
the Austrian generals who acted in so 
chivalrous a manner to their defeated enemy." 

"Then even during your holidays you 
never lose sight of your work ? " 

"Yes, in spite of the good old English 
proverb, c All work and no play makes Jack 
a dull boy,' I consider that any artist, and 

by v^iC 


L| 1 1 I U I I I '.' I 1 1 




From tte Picture bv IT DtiaUU, Bv ptrmMon af tronpU it Co,, P aru. OapMrtykt, t$s?* &y Jean Bouwul, Jfciut, Jttynnt it Cu., Puria. 

especially I would say any young artist, 
must give himself up entirely to his art, 
People thoroughly realize this fact in the ease 
of a man who has charge of a large financial 
business ; how much more should it be true 
when such an art as painting is in question ? 
The artist must never be content with 
* Pa peu firhJ that is to say, *the pretty 
well.' What is worth doing at all is worth 
doing well." 

" Then I suppose each of your paintings 
means an extraordinary amount of prepara- 
tion in the way of preliminary sketches ? " 

" Yes, and no, I never begin a piece of 
work until 1 have mentally completed every 
detail. In this I suppose my method is not 
unlike that pursued by the musician who 

by {j 



composes without the assistance of an in- 
strument Some of my pictures have been 
thought out very rapidly ; others have taken 
years before I saw them, as it were, quite 
clearly focused in my mind. I rarely 
modify my original conception. Unlike many 
of my comrades, whose pictures s however, 
I must confess, do not seem to suffer from 
their lack of method and careless manner of 
working, I leave nothing to chance, and when- 
ever it be possible, I paint directly from 
Nature. I find it far easier to paint in the 
country than in town* I do not believe in 
the system of making an immense number of 
sketches and studies, for personally I should 
lose all my en train if my work consisted of a 
series of more or less elaborate copies from 

Original from 



a preliminary sketch. When working at 
a battlefield, whether my painting be an 
easel picture or a panorama, I settle myself 
in where the action actually took place, and 
so at least insure the accuracy of the land- 

"And what first made you turn your 
attention to panorama ? n 

"I have always delighted in making 

experiments, and when my friend, Alphonse 
de Neuville, and myself were asked to 
undertake a panorama of the Battle of 
Champigny* we made up our minds that it 
would be an interesting experiment. And 
the result more than fulfilled our expectations, 
for it taught me, at least, to paint on a much 
larger scale than I had ever done before ; but 
I need hardly tell you that it involved a very 

by LiC 





great deal of heavy work> the more so that 
we did every inch of the painting ourselves 
with the exception of certain portions of the 

Those who had the good fortune of seeing 
the panorama in question will never forget 

that staff officers belonging to every nation 
in the world came to Paris on purpose to 
see it. And equally successful was another 
panorama of M* Detaille's, namely, the 
Battle of Rezonville. 

"In this panorama I tried," he observed, 

this wonderful reconstitution of a battlefield. 
The moment chosen by the two artists was 
three o'clock in the afternoon of the second 
day of the battle (December and, 1870), 
So astonishing and remarkable was the result, 

by C^OOgle 

"to show a battlefield as it really is, and 
I chose the hour of 7.30 p.m., for I con- 
sidered it would then be more easy to 
express the strange, silent twilight that falls 
on such a scene — for when the fighting is 
Original from 




From the Picture fry] 


[M. 1/tLn.U. 

Bf perrniMtipm qf {Joupil & Co,* PariM. GbppriQfti,, t$93* by BtHMod* Vaiadon .<- O-., Parti. 

hardest, that is between the thunder of the 
artillery and the sharp rifle detonations, 
descends a silence which may be felt. Per- 
sonally I preferred the panorama of Rezonville 
to that of Champigny, for I consider that in 
it a far more real impression of what actually 
took place was conveyed to the spectator." 

u 1 suppose you have not had much occa- 
sion to turn your attention to the humorous 
side of army life? " 

" I admit I have more or less left that side 
of military life to my brilliant young friend, 
Caran d'Ache, but of course I have done 

innumerable sketches showing the lighter side 
of military life. Laughter and tears have 
always been closely connected, and when I 
look back on the Franco- Prussian War, I 
remember many incidents which may be 
regarded from cither point of view. It pains 
me to see any army, French or foreign, 
caricatured in a disagreeable and insolent 
manner; on the other hand, it must be 
admitted that both Tommy Atkins and our 
own Piou-Piou often lend themselves — in 
times of peace, be it said — to the exercise of 
a little gentle ridicule." 

by Google 

Original from 

1 he Brass Bottle, 

By F. Anstey. 

Author &f " Vice- Versd" etc., etc. 



O you were inside that bottle, 
were you ? " said Horace, 
blandly, "How singular!* 1 
He began to realize that he 
had to deal with an Oriental 
lunatic, and must humour 
him to some extent. Fortunately he did not 
seem at all dangerous, though 
undeniably eccentric -looking. 
His hair fell in disorderly pro- 
fusion from under his high 
turban about his cheeks, which 
were of a uniform pale rhubarb 
tint ; his grey beard streamed 
out in three thin strands, and 
his long, narrow eyes, opal in 
hue, and set rather wide apart 
and at a slight angle, had a 
curious expression, part slyness 
and part childlike simplicity. 

"Dost thou doubt that I 
speak truth ? I tell thee that 
I have been confined in that 
accursed vessel for countless 
centuries— how long, I know 
not, for it is beyond calcu- 

■■ I should hardly have 
thought from your appearance, 
sir, that you had been so many 
years in bottle as all that/' 
said Horace, politely, "but 
it's certainly time you had a 
change. May I, if it isn't 
indiscreet, ask how you came 
into such a very uncomfortable 
position? But probably you 
have forgotten by this time/' 

u Forgotten ! J ' said the 
other, with a sombre red glow 
in his opal eyes, " Wisely 
was it written ; * Let him that 
desireth oblivion confer bene- 
fits — but the memory of an 
injury endureth for ever.* / 
forget neither benefits nor 

11 An old gentleman with a 
grievance," thought Venti- 

more. "And mad into the bargain, Nice 
person to have staying in the same house 
with one ! ?J 

'* Know, O best of mankind," continued 
the stranger, "that he who now addresses 
thee is Fakrash-el-Aamash, one of the Green 
Jinn. And I dwelt in the Palace of the 
Mountain of the Clouds above the City of 
Babel in the Garden of I rem, which thou 
doubtless knowest by repute?" 

11 1 fancy I have heard of it/' 
said Horace, as if it were an 
address in the Court Directory* 
" Delightful neighbourhood." 

"I had a kinswoman, Bedeea- 
el-Jemal, who possessed incom- 


Copyright, 1900* in the United States of America, by D. Applet on & Co- 

C* C\C\c\\o Original from 




parable beauty and manifold accomplish- 
ments. And seeing that, though a Jinneeyeh, 
she was of the believing Jinn, I dispatched 
messengers to Suleyman the Great, the 
son of Daood, offering him her hand in 
marriage. But a certain Jarjarees, the son 
of Rejmoos, the son of Iblees — may he be 
for ever accursed ! — looked with favour 
upon the maiden, and, going secretly unto 
Suleyman, persuaded him that I was prepar- 
ing a crafty snare for the King's undoing." 

"And, of course, you never thought of 
such a thing ? " said Ventimore. 

" By a venomous tongue the fairest motives 
may be rendered foul," was the somewhat 
evasive reply. "Thus it came to pass that 
Suleyman —on whom be peace ! — listened 
unto the voice of Jarjarees and refused to 
receive the maiden. Moreover, he commanded 
that I should be seized and imprisoned in a 
bottle of brass and cast into the Sea of 
El-Karkar, there to abide the Day of Doom." 

"Too bad — really too bad!" murmured 
Horace, in a tone that he hoped was suffi- 
ciently sympathetic. 

" But now, by thy means, O thou of noble 
ancestors and gentle disposition, my deliver- 
ance hath been accomplished ; and if I were 
to serve thee for a thousand years, regarding 
nothing else, even thus could I not requite 
thee, and my so doing would be a small 
thing according to thy deserts ! " 

"Pray don't mention it," said Horace; 
" only too pleased if I've been of any use to 

" In the sky it is written upon the pages of 
the air : ' He who doth kind actions shall 
experience the like/ Am I not an Efreet of 
the Jinn ? Demand, therefore, and thou 
shalt receive." 

" Poor old chap ! " thought Horace, " he's 
very cracked indeed. He'll be wanting to 
give me a present of some sort soon — and of 
course I can't have that .... My dear 
Mr. Fakrash," he said, aloud, " I've done 
nothing— nothing at all— and if I had, I 
couldn't possibly accept any reward for it." 

"What are thy names, and what calling 
dost thou follow ? " 

" I ought to have introduced myself before 
— let me give you my card," and Ventimore 
gave him one, which the other took and 
placed in his girdle. " That's my business 
address. I'm an architect, if you know what 
that is —a man who builds houses and 
churches — mosques, you know — in fact, any- 
thing, when he can get it to build." 

" A useful calling indeed — and one to be 
rewarded with fine gold." 

VoL xix.— 19- 

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" In my case," Horace confessed, " the 
reward has been too fine to be perceived. In 
other words, I've never been rewarded, 
because I've never yet had the luck to get a 

" And what is this client of whom thou 
speakest ? " 

" Oh, well, some well-to-do merchant who 
wants a house built for him and doesn't 
care how much he spends on it. There must 
be lots of them about — but they never seem 
to come in my direction." 

" Grant me a period of delay, and, if it be 
possible, I will procure thee such a client." 

Horace could not help thinking that any 
recommendation from such a quarter would 
hardly carry much weight ; but, as the poor 
old man evidently imagined himself under an 
obligation, which he was anxious to discharge, 
it would have been unkind to throw cold 
water on his good intentions. 

" My dear sir," he said, lightly, " if you 
should come across that particular type of 
client, and can contrive to impress him with 
the belief that I'm just the architect he's 
looking out for — which, between ourselves, I 
am, though nobody's discovered it yet — if 
you can get him to come to me, you will 
do me the very greatest service I could ever 
hope for. But don't give yourself any trouble 
over it." 

" It will be one of the easiest things that 
can be," said his visitor, " that is " (and here 
a shade of rather pathetic doubt crossed his 
face) " provided that anything of my former 
power yet remains unto me." 

" Well, never mind, sir," said Horace ; " if 
you can't, I shall take the will for the deed." 

" First of all, it will be prudent to learn 
where Suleyman is, that I may humble 
myself before him and make my peace." 

" Yes," said Horace, gently, " I would. I 
should make a point of that, sir. Not naw y 
you know. He might be in bed. To-morrow 

" This is a strange place that I am in, and 
I know not yet in what direction I should 
seek him. But till I have found him, and 
justified myself in his sight, and had my 
revenge upon Jarjarees, mine enemy, I shall 
know no rest." 

" Well, but go to bed now, like a sensible 
old chap," said Horace, soothingly, anxious 
to prevent this poor, demented Asiatic from 
falling into the hands of the police. " Plenty 
of time to go and call on Suleyman to- 

" I will search for him, even unto the 
uttermost ends of the earth ! " 

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" That's right — you're sure to find him in 
one of them. Only, don't you see, it's no 
use starting to-night — the last trains have 
gone long ago." As he spoke, the night 
wind bore across the square the sound of 
Big Ben striking the quarters in Westminster 
Clock Tower, and then, after a pause, the 
solemn boom that announced the first of the 
small hours. " To-morrow," thought Venti- 
more, (t I'll speak to Mrs. Rapkin, and get 
her to send for a doctor and have him put 
under proper care — the poor old boy really 
isn't fit to go about alone ! " 

" I will start now — at once," insisted the 
stranger, " for there is no time to be lost." 

"Oh, come!" said Horace, "after so 
many thousand years, a few hours more or 
less won't make any serious difference. And 
you can't go out now — they've shut up the 
house. Do let me take you upstairs to your 
room, sir?" 

" Not so, for I must leave thee for a 
season, O young man of kind conduct But 
may thy days be fortunate, and thy gate 
never cease to be repaired, and the nose of 
him that envieth thee be rubbed in the dust, 
for love for thee hath entered into my heart, 
and if it be permitted unto me, I will cover 
thee with the veils of my protection ! " 

As he finished this harangue the speaker 
seemed, to Ventimore's speechless amaze- 
ment, to slip through the wall behind him. 
At all events, he had left the room somehow 
— and Horace found himself alone. 

He rubbed the back of his head, which 
began to be painful. " He can't really have 
vanished through the wall," he said to him- 
self. " That's too absurd. The fact is, I'm 
over-excited this evening — and no wonder, 
after all that's happened. The best thing I 
can do is to go to bed at once ! " 

Which he accordingly proceeded to do. 



When Ventimore woke next morning his 
headache had gone, and with it the recol- 
lection of everything but the wondrous and 
delightful fact that Sylvia loved him and had 
promised to be his some day. Her mother, 
too, was on his side ; why should he despair 
of anything after that? There was the 
Professor, to be sure — but even he might be 
brought to consent to an engagement, 
especially if it turned out that the brass 
bottle . . . and here Horace began to recall 
an extraordinary dream in connection with 
that rather speculative purchase of his. He 

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had dreamed that he had forced the bottle 
open, and that it proved to contain, not 
manuscripts, but an elderly Jinnee who 
alleged that he had been imprisoned there 
by the order of King Solomon ! 

What, he wondered, could have put so 
grotesque a fancy into his head, and then 
he smiled as he traced it to Sylvia's playful 
suggestion that the bottle might contain a 
"genie," as did the famous jar in the 
"Arabian Nights," and to her father's 
pedantic correction of the word to "Jinnee." 
Upon that slight foundation his sleeping 
brain had built up all that elaborate fabric — 
a scene so vivid and a story so circumstantial 
and plausible that, in spite of its extravagance, 
he could hardly even now persuade himself 
that it was entirely imaginary. The psy- 
chology of dreams is a subject which has a 
fascinating mystery, even for the least serious 

As he entered the sitting-room, where his 
breakfast awaited him, he looked round, 
half expecting to find the bottle lying with 
its lid off in the corner, as he had last seen it 
in his dream. 

Of course, it was not there, and he felt an 
odd relief. The auction-room people had 
not delivered it yet, and so much the better, 
for he had still to ascertain if it had anything 
inside it; and who knew that it might not 
contain something more to his advantage 
than a maundering old Jinnee with a 
grievance several thousands of years old ? 

Breakfast over, he rang for his landlady, 
who presently appeared. Mrs. Rapkin was 
a superior type of her much-abused class. 
She was scrupulously clean and neat in her 
person ; her sandy hair was so smooth and 
tightly knotted that it gave her head the 
colour and shape of a Barcelona nut; she 
had sharp, beady eyes, nostrils that seemed 
to smell battle afar off, a wide, thin mouth 
that apparently closed with a snap, and a dry, 
whity-brown complexion suggestive of bran. 

But, if somewhat grim of aspect, she was 
a good soul and devoted to Horace, in whom 
she took almost a maternal interest, while 
regretting that he was not what she called 
" serous-minded enough " to get on in the 
world. Rapkin had wooed and married her 
when they were both in service, and he still 
took occasional jobs as an outdoor butler, 
though Horace suspected that his more 
staple form of industry was the consump- 
tion of gin -and -water and remarkably full- 
flavoured cigars in the basement parlour. 

" Shall you be dining in this evening, sir?" 
inquired Mrs. Rapkin. 

Original from 



MK. KAJ'Krv, 

M I don't know. Don't get anything in 
for me ; 1 shall most probably dine at the 
dub/ 1 said Horace; and Mrs. Rapkin, who 
had a confirmed belief that all clubs were 
hotbeds of vice and extravagance, sniffed 
disapproval M By the way/' he added, "if 
a kind of brass pot is sent here, it's all right 
1 lK>ught it at a sale yesterday. He careful 
how you handle it — it's rather old/ 1 

"There was a vawse come late last night, 
sir ; I don't know if it's that, it's old-fashioned 

" Then will you bring it up at once, 
please ? I want to see it." 

Mrs. Rapkin retired, to re-appear presently 
with the brass bottle. " I thought you'd 
have noticed it when you come in last night, 
sir," she explained, "for I stood it in the 
corner, and when I see it this morning it was 
iayin 1 o' one side and looking that dirty and 
dis res pec table I took it down to give it a 
good clean, which it wanted it," 

It certainly looked rather the better for 
it, and the marks or scratches on the cap 
were more distinguishable, but Horace 
was somewhat disconcerted to find that 
part of his dream was true — the bottle 
had beers there. 

"I hope I've done nothing wrong/' 

said Mrs. Rapkin, observing his ex- 
pression ; "I only used a little warm 
^ ale to it, which is a capital thing for 

brass- work, and gave it a scrub with 
1 Vitrolia ' soap — but it would take 
+ more than that to get all the muck off 

of iL" 

" It is all right, so long as you didn't 
try to get the top off/ 5 said Horace. 

" Why, the top was off it, sir. I 
thought you'd done it with the 'ammer 
and chisel when you got 'ome," said 
his landlady, staring. U I found them 
J ere on the carpeL" 

Horace started. Then thai part was 
true, too ! "Oh, ah/' he said, " I believe 
I did. I'd forgotten. That reminds me. 
Haven't you let the room above to — 
to an Oriental gentleman— a native, 
you know — wears a green turban ? " 
" That I most certainly 'ave not^ Mr, 
Yen ti more," said Mrs, Rapkin, w T ith emphasis, 
"nor wouldn't, Not if his turbin was all the 
colours of the rainbow — for I don't 'old with 
such. Why, there was Rapkm's own sister- 
in-law let her parlour floor to a Horiental — a 
Parsee hi was, or om o f them Hafrican tribes 
— and reason she J ad to repent of it, for all 
his gold spectacles ! Whatever made you 
fancy I should let to a blackamoor ? n 

*' Oh, I thought I saw somebody about — 
er — answering that description, and I won- 
dered if f 

" Never in this J ouse, sir. Mrs, Steggars, 
next door hut one, might let to such, for all 
I can say to the contrary, not being what 
you might call particular, and her rooms 


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Original from 




more suitable to savage notions — but I've 
enough on my hands, Mr. Ventimore, attend- 
ing to you — not keeping a girl to do the 
waiting, as why should I while I'm well able 
to do it better myself?" 

As soon as she relieved him of her presence 
he examined the: bottle ; there 
was nothing whatever inside 
it, which disposed of all the 
hopes he had entertained from 
that quarter. 

It was not difficult to ac- 
count for the visionary Oriental 
as an hallucination 
probably inspired 
by the heavy fumes 
(for he now believed 
in the fumes) which 
had doubtless re- 
sulted from the 
rapid decomposi- 
tion of some long- 
buried spices or 
similar substances 
sudden I j exposed 
to the air. 

If any further explanation 
were needed, the accidental 
blow to the back of his 
head, together with the 
latent suggestion from the 
"Arabian Nights/' would 
amply provide it. 

So, having settled these 
points to his entire satisfac- 
tion, he went to his office in 
Great Cloister Street, which he now had 
entirely to himself, and was soon engaged in 
drafting the specification for Bee v or on which 
he had been working when so fortunately 
interrupted the day before by the Professor 

The work was more or less mechanical, 
and could bring him no credit and little 
thanks, but Horace had the happy faculty of 
doing thoroughly whatever he undertook, and 
as he sat there by his wide-open window, he 
soon became entirely oblivious of all but the 
task before him. 

So much so that, even when the light 
became obscured for a moment, as if by 
some large and opaque body in passing, he 
did not look up immediately, and, when he 
did, was surprised to find the only arm-chair 
occupied by a portly person, who seemed to 
be trying to recover his breath. 

11 1 beg your pardon," 1 said Ventimore ; u I 
never heard you come in," 

His visitor could only wave his hand in 
courteous deprecation, under which there 

seemed a suspicion of bewildered embarrass- 
ment He was a rosy-gilled, spotlessly-clean, 
elderly gentleman, with white whiskers ; his 
eyes, just then slightly protuberant, were 
shrewd, but genial ; he had a wide, jolly 
mouth and a double chin. He was dressed 
like a man who is above disguis- 
ing his prosperity; he wore a 
large, pear-shaped pearl in his 
crimson scarf, and had probably 
only lately discarded 
his summer white hat. 






" My dear sir," he began, in a rich, throaty 
voice, as soon as he could speak ; " my 
dear sir, you must think this is a most 
unceremonious way of — ah ! — dropping in 
on you — of invading your privacy." 

"Not at all," said Horace, wondering 
whether he could possibly intend him to 
understand that he had come in by the 
window. "I'm afraid there was no one to 
show you in — my clerk is away just now." 

" No matter, sir, no matter, I found my 
way up, as you perceive* The important, I 
may say the essential, fact is that I am here." 

"Quite so," said Horace; "and may I 
ask what brought you ? n 

"What brought " the stranger's eyes 

grew fishlike for the moment " Allow me, 
I — I shall come to that — in good time. I 
am still a little — as you can see," He glanced 
round the room. "You are, 1 think, an 
architect, Mr. ah — Mr. urn 

"Ventimore is my name," 
11 and I am an architect," 
Original from 

■ ?" 
said Horace, 



" Ventimore, to be sure ! " he put his hand 
in his pocket and produced a card : " Yes, it's 
all quite correct I see I have the name here. 
And an architect, Mr. Ventimore, so I — I 
am given to understand, of immense ability." 

" I'm afraid I can't claim to be that," said 
Horace, " but I may call myself fairly 

" Competent ? Why, of course you're 
competent Do you suppose, sir, that I, a 
practical business man, should come to any 
one who was not competent ? " he said, with 
exactly the air of a man trying, to convince 
himself — against his own judgment — that he 
was acting with the utmost prudence. 

" Am I to understand that someone has 
been good enough to recommend me to 
you ? " inquired Horace. 

" Certainly not, sir, certainly not / need 
no recommendation but my own judgment 
I — ah — have a tolerable acquaintance with 
all that is going on in the art world, and I 
have come to the conclusion, Mr. — eh — ah — 
Ventimore, I repeat, the deliberate and un- 
assisted conclusion, that you are the one man 
living who can do what I want" 

" Delighted to hear it," said Horace, 
genuinely gratified. w When did you see 
any of my designs ? " 

" Never mind, sir. I don't decide with- 
out very good grounds. It doesn't take me 
long to make up my mind, and when my 
mind is made up, I act, sir, I act And, to 
come to the point, I have a small commis- 
sion — unworthy, I am quite aware, of your — 
ah — distinguished talent — which I should 
like to put in your hands." 

" Is he going to ask me to attend a sale 
for him ? " thought Horace. " I'm hanged 
if I do." 

" I'm rather busy at present," he said, 
dubiously, " as you may see. I'm not sure 
whether " 

" I'll put the matter in a nutshell, sir — in a 
nutshell. My name is Wackerbath, Samuel 
Wackerbath — tolerably well known, if I may 
say so, in City circles." Horace, of course, 
concealed the fact that his visitor's name and 
fame were unfamiliar to him. " I've lately 
bought a few acres on the Hampshire 
border, near the house I'm living in just now ; 
and I've been thinking — as I was saying to 
a friend only just now, as we were crossing 
Westminster Bridge— I've been thinking of 
building myself a little place there, just a 
humble, unpretentious home, where I could 
run down for the week-end and entertain a 
friend or two in a quiet way, and perhaps 
live some part of the year. Hitherto I've 

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rented places as I wanted 'em — old 
family seats and ancestral mansions and so 
forth : very nice in their way, but I want to 
feel under a roof of my own. I want to 
surround myself with the simple comforts, 
the — ah — unassuming elegance of an English 
country home. And you're the man — I feel 
more convinced of it with every word you 
say — you're the man to do the job in style — 
ah — to execute the w T ork as it should be 

Here was the long -wished -for client at 
last ! And it was satisfactory to feel that he 
had arrived in the most ordinary and common- 
place course, for no one could look at Mr. 
Samuel Wackerbath and believe for a moment 
that he was capable of floating through an 
upper window ; he was not in the least that 
kind of person. 

" I shall be happy to do my best," said 
Horace, with a calmness that surprised him- 
self. " Could you give me some idea of the 
amount you are prepared to spend ? " 

"Well, I'm no Croesus — though I won't 
say I'm a pauper precisely — and, as I 
remarked before, I prefer comfort to 
splendour. I don't think I should be justified 
in going beyond — well, say sixty thousand." 

" Sixty thousand ! " exclaimed Horace, 
who had expected about a tenth of that sum. 
" Oh, not more than sixty thousand ? I see." 

" I mean, on the house itself," explained 
Mr. Wackerbath ; " there will be outbuildings, 
lodges, cottages, and so forth, and then some 
of the rooms I . should want specially 
decorated. Altogether, before we are 
finished, it may work out at about a hundred 
thousand. I take it that, with such a margin, 
you could—ah — run me up something that in 
a modest way would take the shine out of — I 
mean to say eclipse— anything in the adjoin- 
ing counties ? " 

" I certainly think," said Horace, " that for 
such a sum as that I can undertake that you 
shall have a home which will satisfy you." 
And he proceeded to put the usual questions 
as to site, soil, available building materials, 
the accommodation that would be required, 
and so on. 

" You're young, sir," said Mr. Wackerbath 
at the end of the interview, " but I perceive 
you are up to all the tricks of the— I should 
say, versed in the minuticz of your profession. 
You would like to run down and look at the 
ground, eh ? Well, that's only reasonable, 
and my wife and daughters will want to have 
their say in the matter — no getting on without 
pleasing the ladies, hey ? Now, let me see. 
To-morrow's Sunday. Why not come down 

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by the 8.45 a.m. to Lipsfield ? Ill have a 
trap, or a brougham and pair, or something, 
waiting for you — take you over the ground 
myself, bring you back to lunch with us at 
Oriel Court, and talk the whole thing 
thoroughly over. Then we'll send you up 
to town in the evening, and you can start 
work the first thing on Monday. That suit 
you ? Very well, then. Well expect you 

With this Mr. Wackerbath departed, leav- 
ing Horace, as may be imagined, absolutely 
overwhelmed by the suddenness and com- 
pleteness of his good fortune. He was no 
longer one of the unemployed : he had work 
to do, and, better still, work that would 
interest him, give him all the scope and 
opportunity he could wish for. With a client 
who seemed tractable, and to whom money 
was clearly no object, he might carry out 
some of his most ambitious ideas. 

Moreover, he would now be in a position 
to speak to Sylvia's father without fear of a 
repulse. His commission on ^60,000 would 
be ^3,000, and that on the decorations and 
other work at least as much again — probably 
more. In a year he could marry without 
imprudence ; in two or three years he might 
be . making a handsome income, for he felt 
confident that, with such a start, he would 
soon have as much work as he could under- 

He was ashamed of himself for ever 
having lost heart. What were the last few 
years of weary waiting but probation and 
preparation for this splendid chance, which 
had come just when he really needed it, and 
in the most simple and natural manner? 

He loyally completed the work he had 
promised to do for Beevor, who would have 
to dispense with his assistance in future, and 
then he felt too excited and restless to stay 
in the office, and, after lunching at his club 
as usual, he promised himself the pleasure of 
going to Cottesmore Gardens and telling 
Sylvia his good news. 

It was still early, and he walked the whole 
way, as some vent for his high spirits, enjoy- 
ing everything with a new zest — the dappled 
grey and salmon sky before him, the amber, 
russet, and yellow of the scanty foliage in 
Kensington Gardens, the pungent scent of 
fallen chestnuts and acorns and burning 
leaves, the blue-grey mist stealing between the 
distant tree-trunks, and then the cheery bustle 
and brilliancy of the High Street. Finally 
came the joy of finding Sylvia all alone, and 
witnessing her frank delight at what he had 
come to tell her, of feeling her hands on his 

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shoulders, and holding her in his arms, as 
their lips met for the first time. If on that 
Saturday afternoon there was a happier man 
than Horace Ventimore, he would have done 
well to dissemble his felicity, for fear of 
incurring the jealousy of the high gods. 

When Mrs. Futvoye returned, as she did 
only too soon, to find her daughter and 
Horace seated on the same sofa, she did not 
pretend to be gratified* "This is taking a 
most unfair advantage of what I was weak 
enough to say last night, Mr. Ventimore," 
she began. . " I thought I could have trusted 
you ! " 

" I shouldn't have come so soon," he said, 
"if my position were what it was only 
yesterday. But it's changed since then, and 
I venture to hope that even the Professor 
won't object now to our being regularly 
engaged." And he told her of the sudden 
alteration in his prospects. 

"Well," said Mrs. Futvoye, "you had 
better speak to my husband about it." 

The Professor came in shortly afterwards, 
and Horace immediately requested a few 
minutes' conversation with him in the study, 
which was readily granted. 

The study to which the Professor led the 
way was built out at the back of the house, 
and crowded with Oriental curios of every 
age and kind ; the furniture had been made 
by Cairene cabinet-makers, and along the 
cornices of the book-cases were texts from 
the Koran, while every chair bore the Arabic 
for " Welcome " in a gilded firework on its 
leather back ; the lamp was a perforated 
mosque lantern with long pendent glass 
tubes like hyacinth glasses ; a mummy-case 
smiled from a corner with laboured bon- 

"Well," began the Professor, as soon as 
they were seated, "so there was something 
in the brass bottle after all, then ? Let's have 
a look at it, whatever it is." 

For the moment Horace had almost for- 
gotten the bottle. " Oh ! " he said, " I— I 
got it open ; but there was nothing in it." 

"Just as I anticipated, sir," said the Pro- 
fessor. " I told you there couldn't be any- 
thing in a bottle of that description ; it was 
simply throwing money away to buy it." 

"I daresay it was, but I wished to speak 
to you on a much more important matter," 
and Horace briefly explained his object. 

" Dear me," said the Professor, rubbing 
up his hair irritably, " dear me ! I'd no idea 
of this — no idea at all. I was under the 
impression that you volunteered to act as 
escort to my wife and daughter at St. Luc 

Original from 




purely out of good nature to relieve me from 
what — to a man of my habits in that extreme 
heat — would have been an arduous and dis- 
tasteful duty," 

u I was not wholly unsel- hj 

fish, I admit," said Horace. 


i( I fell in love with your daughter, sir, the 
first day I met her— only I felt I had no 
right, as a poor man with no prospects, to 
speak to her or you at that time," 

"A very creditable feeling— but Fve yet to 
r learn why you should have overcome it." 

So, for the third time, Ventiroore told the 
story of the sudden turn in his fortunes. 

"1 know this Mr. Samuel Wackerhath by 
name/ 1 said the Professor ; * 4 one of the chief 
partners in the firm of Akers and Coverdale, 
the great estate agents— a most influential 
man, if you can only succeed in satisfying 

" Oh, I don't feel any misgivings about 
that, sir," said Horace. 4t I mean to build 
him a house that will be beyond his wildest 
expectations, and you see that in a year I 
shall have earned several thousands, and I 
need not say that I will make any settlement 
you think proper when I marry " 

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" When you are in possession of those 
thousands," remarked the Professor, drily, 
" it will he time enough to talk of marrying 
and making settlements. Meanwhile, 
if you and Sylvia choose to consider 
yourselves engaged, I won't object — 
only I must insist on having your 
promise that you won't persuade her 
to marry you without her mother's 
and my consent.'* 

Vend more gave this undertaking 
willingly enough, and they returned to 
the drawing-room. Mrs. Futvoye could 
hardly avoid asking Horace, in his 
new character of fianct \ to stay and 
dine, which it need not be said he 
was only too delighted to do. 

i(h There is one thing, my dear — 
er — Horace,' 1 said the Pro- 
fessor, solemnly, after dinner, 
when the neat parlourmaid 
had left them at dessert, "one 
thing on which I think it my 
duty to caution you. If you 
are to ju.stify the confidence 
we have shown in sanctioning 
your engagement to Sylvia, 
you must curb this propensity 
of yours to needless extrava- 
gance.' 1 

11 Papa ! " cried Sylvia. 
11 What could have made you think Horace 
extravagant ? " 

- Really," said Horace, " I shouldn't have 
called myself particularly so." 

41 Nobody ever does call himself particularly 
extravagant," retorted the Professor ; H but I 
observed at St. Luc that you habitually gave 
fifty centimes as a ponrboirt when twopence, 
or even a penny, would have been hand- 
.some. And no one with any regard for the 
value of money would have given a guinea 
for a worthless brass vessel on the bare 
chance that it might contain manuscripts, 
which (as anyone could have foreseen) it did 

11 But it's not a had sort of bottle, sir," 
pleaded Horace, "If you remember, you 
said yourself the shape was unusual Why 
shouldn't it be worth all the money^ and 
more ? " 

"To a collector, perhaps/' said the Pro- 
fessor, with his wonted amiability, *' which 
you are not. No s I can only call it a sense- 
less and reprehensible waste of money.* 1 

44 Well, the truth is/ J said Horace, "I 
bought it with some idea that it might 
interest yw? 

"Then you were mistaken, sir. It does 




not interest me. Why should I be interested 
in a metal jar which, for anything that 
appears to the contrary, may have been cast 
the other day at Birmingham? " 

" But there is something;" said Horace ; 
"a seal or inscription of some sort engraved 
on the cap. Didn't I mention it?" 

11 You said nothing about an inscrip- 
tion before," replied the Professor, 
with rather more interest. 

"What is the character — 
Arabic ? Persian ? Kufic ? n 

"1 really couldn't say — 
it's almost rubbed out — 
queer little triangular marks, 
something like birds' foot- 
prints* 1 

"That sounds like Cuneiform/' said the 
Professor, "which would seem to point to a 
Phoenician origin. And, as I am acquainted 
with no Oriental brass earlier than the ninth 
century of our era, I should regard your 
description as, a priori, distinctly unlikely. 
However, I should certainly like to have 
an opportunity of examining the bottle for 
myself some day." 

''Whenever you please, Professor. When 
can you come ? " 

"Why, I'm so much occupied all day that 
I can't say for certain when I can get up to 
your office again/' 

"My own days will be fairly full now," 
said Horace; "and the things not at the 
office, but in my rooms at Vincent Square. 
Why shouldn't you all come and dine quietly 
there some evening next week, and then you 
could examine the inscription comfortably 
afterwards, you know, Professor, and find out 
what it really is? Do say you will." He 
was eager to have the privilege of entertain- 

by \j*<L 


ing Sylvia in his own rooms for the first 

"No, no," said the Professor; "I see no 
reason why you should be troubled with the 
entire family, I may drop in alone some 
evening and take the luck of the pot, sir." 

"Thank you, papa," put in 
Sylvia ; 4i but / should like to 
come too, please, and hear what 
you think of Horace's 
bottle. And I'm dying 
to see his rooms. I 
believe they're fear- 
fully luxurious," 

11 1 trust," observed 
her father, "that they 
are far indeed from 
answering that des- 
cription. If they did, 
I should consider it 
a most unsatisfactory 
indication of Horace's 

" There's nothing 
m agni f i ce n t about 
them, 1 assure you," 
said Horace. "Though 
it's true I've had them 
done up and all that 
sort of thing at my 
own expense — but 
quite simply. I 
couldn't afford to 
spend much on them* 
But do come and see 
them, I must have a 
little dinner, to celebrate my good fortune- 
it will be so jolly if you'll all three come." 

"If we do come/' stipulated the Professor, 
"it must be on the distinct understanding 
that you don't provide an elaborate banquet. 
Plain, simple, wholesome food, well cooked, 
such as we have had this evening, is all that 
is necessary. More would be ostentatious." 

'* My dear dad ! " protested Sylvia, in 
distress at this somewhat dictatorial speech, 
" Surely you can leave all that to Horace ! " 
** Horace, my dear, understands that, in 
speaking as 1 did, I was simply treating him 
as a potential member of my family," Here 
Sylvia made a private little grimace. " No 
young man who contemplates marry ing should 
allow himself to launch into extravagance on 
the strength of prospects which, for all lie 
can ti-ll/' said the Professor, genially, "may 
prove fallacious. On the contrary, if his 
a flection is sincere, he will incur as little 
expense as possible, put by every penny he 
can save, rather than subject the girl he 

Original from 

i can r>nly call it a bsksbli&8 
waste up money." 1 



professes to love to the ordeal of a long 
engagement. In other words, the truest 
lover is the best economist," 

**1 quite understand, sir/' said Horace, 
good - tern peredly ; "it would be foolish of 
me to attempt any ambitious form of enter- 
tainment — especially as my landlady, though 
an excellent plain cook, is not exactly a 
cordon hkv* So you can come to my modest 
board without misgivings*" 

Before he left, a provisional date for the 
dinner was fixed for an evening towards the 
end of the next week, and Horace walked 
home, treading on air rather than hard paving- 
stones, ana " striking the stars with his up- 
lifted head" 

The next day he went down to Lipsfield 
and made the acquaintance of the whole 

evening, having spent a pleasant day and 
learnt enough of his client's requirements, 
and — what was even more important — 
those of his client's wife and daughters, to 
enable him to begin work upon the sketch 
plans the next morning, 

He had not been long in his rooms at 
Vincent Square, and was still agreeably 
engaged in recalling the docility and ready 
appreciation with which the Wackerbaths had 
received his suggestions and rough sketches, 
their compliments and absolute confidence in 
his skill, when he had a shock which was as 
disagreeable as it was certainly unexpected. 

For the wall before him parted like a film, 
and through it stepped, smiling benignantly, 
the green -robed figure of Fakrash-el-Aamash 
the Jinnee. 

^ % 

pf ty 

*THE wackerdath fahilv were all 



Wackerbath family, who were all enthusiastic 
about the proposed country house The site 
was a fine one, and would command exten- 
sive views, He came back to town the same 
Vol. u**-aa 

Digitized by L^OOgle 



Ventimore had so thoroughly convinced 
himself that the released Jinnee was purely a 
creature of his own 
imagination, that he 
rubbed his eyes with a 
start, hoping that they 
had deceived him. 

"Stroke thy head, O 
merciful and meritorious 
one/' said his visitor, 
M and recover thy faculties 
to receive good tidings* 
For it is indeed I — 
Fakrash - el - Aamash — 
whom thou heholdest." 

(e I — I'm delighted to 
see you," said Horace, 
as cordially as he could. 
11 Is there anything I can 
do for you ? " 

11 Nay, for hast thou 
not done me the greatest 
of all services by setting 
me free ? To escape out 
of a bottle is pleasant* 
And to thee I owe my 

It was all true, then : 
he had really let an im- 
prisoned Genius, or 
Jinnee, or whatever it 
was, out of that bottle ! 
He knew he could not 
be dreaming now — he only wished he 
were. However, since it was done, his best 
course seemed to be to put a good face on 
it, and persuade this uncanny being some- 
Original from 



how to go away and leave him in peace for 
the future. 

" Oh, that's all right, my dear sir," he 
said, " don't think any more about it I — I 
rather understood you to say that you were 
starting on a journey in search of Solomon ? " 

" I have been, and returned. For I visited 
sundry cities in his dominions, hoping that 
by chance I might hear news of him, but I 
refrained from asking directly lest thereby I 
should engender suspicion, and so Suleyman 
should learn of my escape before I could 
obtain an audience of him and implore 

" Oh, I shouldn't think that was likely," 
said Horace. " If I were you, I should go 
straight back and go on travelling till I did 
find Suleyman." 

" Well was it said : * Pass not any door 
without knocking, lest haply that which thou 
seekest should be behind it'" 

"Exactly," said Horace. "Do each city 
thoroughly, house by house, and don't neglect 
the smallest clue. ' If at first you don't 
succeed, try, try, try again ! ' as one of our 
own poets teaches." 

" 'Try, try, try again,'" echoed the Jinnee, 
with an admiration that was almost fatuous. 
* Divinely gifted truly was he who composed 
such a verse ! " 

"He has a great reputation as a sage," 
said Horace, " and the maxim is considered 
one of his happiest efforts. Don't you think 
that, as the East is rather thickly populated, 
the less time you lose in following the poet's 
recommendation the better ? " 

"It may be as thou sayest But know 
this, O my son, that wheresoever I may 
wander, I shall never cease to study how I 
may most fitly reward thee for thy kindness 
towards me. For nobly was it said : ' If I 
be possessed of wealth and be not liberal, 
may my head never be extended ! ' " 

" My good sir," said Horace, " do please 
understand that if you were to offer, me any 
reward for — for a very ordinary act of 
courtesy, I should be obliged to decline 

" But did'st thou not say that thou wast 
sorely in need of a client ? " 

" That was so at the time," said Horace ; 
"but since I last had the pleasure of seeing 
you, I have met with one who is all I could 
possibly wish for." 

" I am indeed rejoiced to hear it," returned 
the Jinnee, "for thou showest me that I 
have succeeded in performing the first 
service which thou hast demanded of me." 

Horace staggered under this severe blow 

to his pride ; for the moment he could only 
gasp : " You— you sent him to me ! " 

" I, and no other," said the Jinnee, beam- 
ing with satisfaction ; " for while, unseen of 
men, I was circling in air, resolved to attend 
to thy affair before beginning my search for 
Suleyman (on whom be peace !), it chanced 
that I overheard a human being of prosperous 
appearance say aloud upon a bridge that he 
desired to erect for himself a palace if he 
could but find an architect So, perceiving 
thee afar off seated at an open casement, I 
immediately transported him to the place 
and delivered him into thy hands " 

" But he knew my name — he had my card 
in his pocket," said Horace. 

" I furnished him with the paper contain- 
ing thy names and abode, lest he should be 
ignorant of them." 

" Well, look here, Mr. Fakrash," said the 
unfortunate Horace, "I know you meant 
well— but never do a thing like that again ! 
If my brother-architects came to know of it 
I should be accused of most unprofessional 
behaviour. I'd no idea you would take that 
way of introducing a client to me, or I 
should have stopped it at once ! " 

" It was an error," said Fakrash. " No 
matter. I will undo this affair, and devise 
some other and better means of serving 

Horace groaned. Undo it ? How could 
it be undone now without some open 
scandal ? 

"No, no," he said, "for Heaven's sake, 
leave things alone — you'll only make them 
worse. Forgive me, my dear Mr. Fakrash, 
I'm afraid I must seem most ungrateful ; 
but — but I was so taken by surprise. And, 
really, I am extremely obliged to you. For, 
though the means you took were — were a 
little irregular, you have done me a very 
great service." 

" It is naught," said the Jinnee, " compared 
to those I hope to render so great a bene- 

" But, indeed, you mustn't think of trying 
to do any more for me," urged Horace, who 
felt the absolute necessity of expelling any 
scheme of further benevolence from the 
Jinnee's head once and for all. " You have 
done enough. Why, thanks to you, I am 
engaged to build a palace that will keep me 
hard at work and happy for ever so long." 

" Are human beings then so enamoured of 
hard labour ? " asked Fakrash, in wonder. 
" It is not thus with the Jinn." 

" I love my work for its own sake," said 
Horace, " and then, when I have finished it, 

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'-i 1 1 1 ti i 1 1 ■_' 1 1 1 




I shall have earned a very fair amount of 
money— which is particularly important to 
me just now," 

"And why, my son, art thou so desirous 
of obtaining riches ? " 

"Because," said Horace, "unless a man is 
tolerably well off in these days he cannot 
hope to marry." 

Fakrash smiled with indulgent compassion, 
" How excellent is the saying of one of old : 
1 He who adventureth upon matrimony is 
like unto one who thrusteth his hand into a 
sack containing many thousands of serpents 
and one eel Yet, if Fate so decree, he may 
draw forth the eel.* And thou art comely, 
and of an age when it is natural to desire the 
love of a maiden. Therefore, be of good 
heart and a cheerful 
eye, and it may be 
that, when I am more 
at leisure, I shall find 


thee a helpmate who shall rejoice thy 

" Please don't trouble to find me anything 
of the sort ! * said Horace, hastily, with a 
mental vision of some helpless and scandalized 
stranger being shot into his dwelling like 
coals. " I assure you I would much rather 
win a wife for myself in the ordinary way- — 
as, thanks to your kindness, I have every 
hope of doing before long." 

" Is there already some damsel for whom 
thy heart pineth ? If so, fear not to tell me her 
names and dwelling-place, and I will assuredly 
obtain her for thee/ 1 

But Ventimore had seen enough of the 
Jinnee's Oriental methods to doubt his tact 
and discretion where Sylvia was concerned. 
" No, no ; of course not. I spoke generally," 
he said " It's exceedingly kind of you — but 
1 do wish I could make you understand that 
I am overpaid as it is. You have put me in 
the way to make a name and fortune for 
myself. If I fail, it will be my own fault 
And, at all events, I want nothing more from 
you* If you mean to find Suleyman (on 
whom be peace !) you must 
£0 and live in the East alto- 
gether — for he certainly isn't 
over here ; you must give up 
your whole time to it, keep 
as quiet as possible, and don't 
be discouraged by any reports 
you may hear, Above all, 
never trouble your head about 
me or my affairs again ! " 

"O, thou of wisdom and 
eloquence," said Fakrash, 
"this is most excellent advice. 
I will go then, but may I 
drink the cup of 
perdition if I 
become unmind- 
ful of thy bene- 
volence ! " 

And, raising 
his joined hands 
above his head 
as he spoke, he 
sank, feet fore- 
most, through the 
carpet and was 

"Thank Hea- 
ven," thought 
Ventimore, " he J s 
taken the hint at 
last, I don't 
think I'm likely 
to see any more 

by Vj£ 


Original from 



of him. I feel an ungrateful brute for 
saying so, but I can't help it. I can not 
stand being under any obligation to a Jinnee 
who's been shut up in a beastly brass bottle 
ever since the days of Solomon, who probably 
had very good reasons for putting him there." 

Horace next asked himself whether he was 
bound in honour to disclose the facts to Mr. 
Wackerbath and give him the opportunity 
of withdrawing from the agreement if he 
thought fit. 

On the whole, he saw no necessity for 
telling him anything ; the only possible result 
would be to make his client suspect his 
sanity; and who would care to employ an 
insane architect ? Then, if he retired from 
the undertaking without any explanations, 
what could he say to Sylvia ? What would 
Sylvia's father say to him J There would 
certainly be an end to his engagement. 

After all, he had not been to blame ; the 
Wackerbaths were quite satisfied. He felt 
perfectly sure that he could justify their 
selection of him ; he would wrong nobody by 
.accepting the commission, while he would 
only offend them, injure himself irretrievably, 
and lose all hope of gaining Sylva if he made 
any attempt to undeceive them. 

And Fakrash was gone, never to return. So, 
on all these considerations, Horace decided 
that silence was his only possible policy, and, 
though some moralists may condemn his 
conduct as disingenuous and wanting in true 
moral courage, I venture to doubt whether 
any reader, however independent, straight- 
forward, and indifferent to notoriety and 
ridicule, would have behaved otherwise in 
Ventimore's extremely delicate and difficult 

Some days passed, every working hour of 
which was spent by Horace in the rapture of 
creation. To every man with the soul of an 
artist in him there comes — only too seldom in 
most cases — a revelation of latent power that 
he had not dared to hope for. And now with 
Ventimore years of study and theorizing which 
he had often been tempted to think wasted 
began to bear golden fruit. He designed and 
drew with a rapidity and originality, a sense 
of perfect mastery of the various problems to 
be dealt with, and a delight in the working 
out of mass and detail, so intoxicating that 
he almost dreaded lest he should be the 
victim of some self-delusion. 

His evenings were, of course, spent with the 
Futvoyes, in discovering Sylvia in some new 
and yet more adorable aspect. Altogether, 
he was very much in love, very happy, and 

very busy— three states not invariably found 
in combination. 

And, as he had foreseen, he had effectually 
got rid of Fakrash, who was evidently too 
engrossed in the pursuit of Solomon to think 
of anything else. And there seemed no 
reason why he should abandon his search for 
a generation or two, for it would probably 
take all that time to convince him that that 
mighty monarch was no longer on the throne. 

"It would have been- too brutal to tell 
him myself," thought Horace, " when he was 
so keen on having his case reheard. And it 
gives him an object, poor old buffer, and 
keeps him from interfering in my affairs, so 
it's best for both of us." 

Horace's little dinner-party had been twice 
postponed, till he had begun to have a 
superstitious fear that it never would come 
off; but at length the Professor had been 
induced to give an absolute promise for a 
certain evening. 

On the day before, after breakfast, Horace 
had summoned his landlady to a consulta- 
tion on the menu. "Nothing elaborate, 
you know, Mrs. Rapkin," said Horace, who, 
though he would have liked to provide a 
feast of all procurable delicacies for Sylvia's 
refection, was obliged to respect her father's 
prejudices, " Just a simple dinner, thoroughly 
well cooked, and nicely served — as you know 
so well how to do it." 

" I suppose, sir, you would require Rapkin 
to wait ? " 

As the ex- butler was liable to trances on 
these occasions, during which he could do 
nothing but smile and bow with speechless 
politeness, as he dropped sauce-boats and 
plates, Horace replied that he thought of 
having someone in, to avoid troubling Mr. 
Rapkin, but his wife expressed such con- 
fidence in her husband's proving equal to 
all emergencies, that Ventimore waived the 
point, and left it to her to hire extra help if 
she thought fit. 

" Now, what soup can you give us ? " he 
inquired, as Mrs. Rapkin stood at attention 
and quite unmollified. 

After protracted mental conflict, she 
grudgingly suggested gravy soup — which 
Horace thought too unenterprising, and 
rejected in favour of mock turtle. " Well, 
then, fish ? " he continued ; " how about 
fish ? " 

Mrs. Rapkin dragged the depths of her 
culinary resources for several seconds, and 
finally brought to the surface what she called 
"a nice fried sole." Horace would not hear 
of it, and urged her to aspire to salmon ; she 

by Google 

II I I '.' I 1 1 




substituted smelts, which he opposed by a 
happy inspiration of turbot and lobster sauce. 
The sauce, however, presented insuperable 
difficulties to her mind, and she offered a 
compromise in the form of cod— which he 
finally accepted as a fish which the Professor 
could hardly censure for ostentation. 

Next came the no less difficult questions 
of tnirh or no entree^ of joint and bird* 
" What's in season just now? " said 
Horace ; u let me see n — and 
glanced out of 
window as he 
spoke, as though 
in search of some 
outside suggestion 
. . . "Camels, by 
Jove,/' he suddenly 

tc Camels, Mr. 
Vend mo re, sir ? " 
repeated Mrs. Rap- 
kin, in some be- 
wilderment, and then, re- 
membering that he was given 
to untimely flippancy, she 
gave a tolerant little cough. 

"M be shot if they aren't 
camels ! " said Horace, lm What do 
you make of 'em, Mrs, Rapkin?" 

Out of the faint mist which hung 
over the farther end of the 
square advanced a proces- 
sion of tall, dust-coloured 
animals, with long, delicately 
poised necks and a mincing 
gaiL Even Mrs. Rapkin 
could not succeed in making 
anything of them 
except camels. 

"What the deuce 
does a caravan of 
camels want in 
Vincent Square?'* 
said Horace, with 
a sudden qualm 
for which he could 
not quite account 

"Most likely 
they belong to the 

Bamum Show, sir/* suggested his landlady. 
" I did hear they were coming to Olympia 
again this year." 

" Why, of course," cried Horace, intensely 
relieved, *■ It's on their way from the 
Docks— at least, it isn't out of their way. Or 
probably the main road's up for repairs. 
That's it — they'll turn off to the left at the 
corner. See, they've got Arab drivers with 

them, Wonderful how the fellows manage 


44 It seems to me, sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, 

" that they're cominy our way — they seem to 

be sLopping outside," 

11 Don't talk such infernal 1 beg your 

pardon, Mrs. Knpkin ; but why on earth 

should Bamum and Bailey's camels come 

out of their way to call on mt? It's 

ridiculous, you 
know!" said 
Ho race , irritably. 

** Ridicklous it 
may be, si 1 - i 
they're all 

sir," she 





down on the road opposite our 
door, as you can see— and them 
niggers is making signs to you 
entile out and speak to em." 

It was true enough. One by 
one the camels, which were ap- 
parently of the purest breed, folded 
themselves up in a row like camp-stools at a 
sign from their attendants, who were now 
making profound salaams towards the 
window where Ventimore was standing. 

" I suppose I'd belter go down and see 
what they want," he said, with rather a sickly 
smile. "They may have lost the way to 
Olympia. .... I only hope Fakrash isn't 
at the bottom of this," he thought, as he 
Original from 



went downstairs. " But he'd come himself— 
at all events, he wouldn't send me a message 
on such a lot of camels ! " As he appeared on 
the doorstep all the drivers flopped down 
and rubbed their flat, black noses on the 

" For Heaven's sake get 

crowd collecting already, and I don't want 
to have a constable here.'* 

He returned to his rooms, where he found 
Mrs. Rapkin paralyzed with amazement 
I( It— it's all right/' he said; "I'd forgotten 




u This isn't Hammersmith. 
Turn to the left, into the 
Vauxhall Bridge Road, and 
ask a policeman the nearest 
way to Olympiad 

41 Be not angry with thy 
slaves 1 " said the head 
driver, in excellent English. 
" We arc here by command 
of Fakrash-el-Aamash, our 
lord* whom we are bound 
to obey. And we have 
brought thee these as gifts," 


"My compliments to your master," said 
Horace, between his teeth, "and tell him 
that a London architect has no sort of 
occasion for camels. Say that I am extremely 
obliged — but am compelled to decline 

"O highly born one," explained the 
driver, " the camels are not a gift — but the 
loads which are upon the camels. Suffer us, 
therefore, since we dare not disobey our 
lord's commands, to carry these trifling 
tokens of his goodwill into thy dwelling and 
depart in peace." 

Horace had not noticed till then that, 
every camel bore a heavy burden, which the 
attendants were now unloading. u Oh, if 
you must/ 7 ' he said, not too graciously, 
"only do look sharp about it — there's a 

left them here- 

by Google 

— it's only a few Oriental 

things from the place where 

that brass bottle came 

from, you know. They've 

on approval." 

"Seems funny their sending their goods 

'orne on camels, sir, doesn't it?" said 

Mrs, Rapkin, 

41 Not at all funny ! " said Horace; "they 
— they're an enterprising firm— their way of 

One after another, a train of dusky attend- 
ants entered, each of whom deposited his 
load on the floor with a guttural grunt and 
retired backward, until the sitting-room was 
blocked xvith piles of sacks, and bales, and 
chests, whereupon the head driver appeared 
and intimated that the tale of gifts was com- 
plete. *' I wonder what sort of tip this fellow 
expects," thought Horace ; "a sovereign seems 
shabby— but it's all I can run to. Ill try 
him with that" 

Original from 




But the overseer repudiated all idea of a 
gratuity with stately dignity, and as Horace 
saw him to the gate, he found a stolid con- 
stable by the railings. 

"This won't dv y you know," said the con- 
stable ; "these 'ere camels must move on — or 
I shall 5 ave to interfere." 

"It's all right, constable," said Horace, 
pressing into his hand the sovereign the head 
driver had rejected ; " they're going to move 
on now. They've brought 
me a few presents from — 
from a friend of mine in the 

By this time the attendants 
had mounted the kneeling 
camels, which rose with 
them, and swung off round 
the square in a long, sway- 
ing trot that soon left the 
crowd far behind, staring 
blankly after the caravan as 
camel after camel disap- 
peared into the haze. 

"I shouldn't mind knowin* 
that friend o* yours, sir," 
said the constable ; u open- 
'anded sort o' gentleman, 1 
should think?" 

*' Very| ! " said Horace, 
savagely, and returned to 
his room, which Mrs. Rapkin 
had now left. 

His hands shook, though 
not with joy, as he untied 
some of the sacks and bales 
and forced open the out- 
landish - looking chests, the 
contents of which almost 
took away his breath. 

For in the bales were 
carpets and tissues which he 
saw at a glance must be of 
fabulous antiquity and beyond all price ; the 
sacks held golden ewers and vessels of strange 
workmanship and pantomimic proportions ; 
the chests were full of jewels — ropes of 
creamy pink pearls as large as average onions, 
strings of uncut rubies and emeralds, the 
smallest of which would have been a tight 

fit in an ordinary collar-box, and diamonds, 
roughly facetted and polished, each the size 
of a cocoanut, in whose hearts quivered a 
liquid and prismatic radiance. 

On the most moderate computation, the 
total value of these gifts would probably 
greatly exceed a hundred millions ; never 
probably in the world's history had any 
treasury contained so rich a store. 

It would have been difficult for anybody, 



on suddenly finding himself the possessor of 
this immense incalculable wealth, to make 
any comment quite worthy of the situation ; 
but, surely, none could have been more 
inadequate and, indeed, inappropriate than 
Horace's— which, heartfelt as it was, was con- 
fined to the simple monosyllable — "Damn 1 * 

( To be cost United* ) 

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Original from 

Pigeons as Messengers of JVar. 

By A. H. Osman. 

HE first extensive practical 
application of racing pigeons 
as messengers in time of war 
was when Paris was environed 
by the German army in 1870. 
Some time after communi- 
cation had been cut off from the outer world 
a number of pigeon-fanciers came forward 
and offered to place the services of their 
birds at the disposal of the authorities for 
the purpose of obtaining communication. 
This was ridiculed for some time, but at last 
an eminent aeronaut who had volunteered to 
cross the Prussian lines in a balloon agreed 
to take a consignment of pigeons with him, 
and it was by means of these birds that the 
first news was brought to the beleaguered 
citizens of Paris. 

Only those who have been in such an 
unfortunate position can imagine the 
welcome extended to the brave little pigeon 
messenger. Others followed, and by means 
of further balloons some of the pigeons which 
returned made journeys over the Prussian 
lines as many as a dozen times — in 
fact, a pigeon post was established from 
Tours. This post was recognised by the 
English postal authorities, and letters at the 
cost of half a franc a word were sent from 
Tours to Paris as fast as the pigeons could 
be got out by balloon and conveyed from 
the places where they descended to Tours. 

The letters, which were limited to twenty 
words, were set up in type, micro-photo- 
graphed on thin films of collodion, inclosed 
in small quills, and attached to one of the 
tail feathers of the bird. 

So complete was this organization that it 
gave an immediate impetus to other coun- 
tries to establish pigeon posts. As soon as 
peace was restored France set to work to 
establish a complete pigeon post throughout 
the country. Germany, too, was not slow to 
recognise the immense value that such an 
auxiliary means of communication might be, 
and at the present time nearly every large 
fortification in Germany has a well-established 
loft of pigeons under command. Russia, 
Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Spain, and 
Portugal all have their pigeon posts. The 
birds are regularly trained and kept ready for 
service. It is to be regretted that military 
lofts had not been established throughout 
South Africa during the time of peace, for 
such messengers would undoubtedly have 

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proved invaluable in the case of Ladysmith, 
Kimberley, and Mafeking. 

As it is, a few private fanciers placed their 
birds at the disposal of the authorities as in 
the case of the French fanciers in 1870, and 
it was by this means that the first tidings 
from our gallant troops who were confined 
in Ladysmith were received. 

Mr. E. Lee, of Pietermaritzburg, was one 
of those who placed his birds at the disposal 
of the authorities. They were carried through 
to Ladysmith by an armoured train the day 
prior to communication being cutoff; and 
the photograph of this gentleman and his 
bird is particularly interesting, as the bird 
depicted is the first to have been of service 
as a messenger of war to the English 

It may be interesting to consider the 
speed at which pigeons could convey mes- 
sages of war. Much depends on atmo- 
spheric conditions and the time of the year. 
In the summer time birds are endowed with 
greater endurance than at other periods, and 
on a warm, genial day can easily cover a 
speed of 1,320yds. per minute. With a 
strong breeze behind them they will fly at an 
even greater speed than this. As to dis- 
tances, I am firmly convinced that in order 
to place complete reliance on the prompt 
return of a pigeon messenger too excessive 
distances must not be asked of them, but 
they are thoroughly reliable in fine weather 
from 50 to 150 miles. 

It is most essential, however, that in 
making use of pigeons as messengers of 
war they should be kept in perfect health 
and condition, for a bird that is not well 
cannot be expected to face the elements and 
return to its loft. The question whether it 
is sight or instinct by which the messenger is 
guided has been frequently discussed. After 
many years' practical experience with these 
little messengers I have come to the con- 
clusion that sight and intelligence are the 
main factors guiding them to their homes, 
for the fact cannot be lost sight of that 
when sent on their journey in foggy weather, 
or at night, their faculties entirely fail 
them, whereas in the case of migratory 
birds guided by instinct, they fly by night as 
well as by day. 

As showing the wonderful staying powers 
of these little messengers, I would refer to 
the performances of several racing pigeons 

Original from 





Prom a) from ladvsmith. 

during the past season. In the National 
Flyiny Club's race from Lerwick, Shetland 
Islands, His Royal Highness the Prince of 
Wales, who owns a racing stud, had a bird 
which covered the distance of 510 miles 
at a speed of 1,307 yards per minute; 
Mr, P, Clutterbuck's bird, in the same 
race, flying at the rate of 1,298 yards per 
minute, covering a distance of 587 miles. 

But although 
these distances 
are possible there 
would be great 
danger in placing 
reliance on 
pigeons as war 
messengers for 
such journeys in 
case the weather 
should prove un- 

The first official 
recognition that 
pigeons might be 
of service in Great 
Britain was made 
a year or two 
back, when the 
Royal Naval Lofts 
were founded. 
There are three 
lofts — at Ports- 
mouth, Dart- 
mouth, and Shoe- 

Vol *uc,-21 

buryness. The 
Portsmouth lofts 
are situated in the 
Royal Clarence 
Victualling Yard, 
Go sport, and have 
a fine open sea- 
front, and great 
foresight has been 
displayed in the 
selection of the 
spot on which 
they stand. The 
birds in these 
lofts are numbered 
and registered in 
the same manner 
as our bluejackets. 
In one corner 
of the lofts an 
office is fitted up, 
in which the 
official log-books 
are kept These 
books are of the most elaborate description, 
giving every detail; they consist of one 
for keeping a record of liberation, another 
for a record of pigeons homing at the 
loft 1 and in addition to these, stud registers 
and weekly and monthly report books, so 
that the trials and experiences of every 
pigeon are duly entered up and reported to 
head-quarters, There is also a register of 


h'rom a\ 



by GoOgic 

Original from 



messages kepi, in which the messages carried 
by each bird are pasted up and details 
entered in a most systematic manner. 
Amongst the messages to be found in this 
book are several that have been sent to the 
lofts by Her Majesty the Queen and other 
members of the Royal Family when crossing 
the Channel. 

From the illustration of the Royal Naval 
Ixrfts at Portsmouth, it will be seen that 
there is an upper and lower division, The 

f-Y.PJH if I 


lower portion is devoted to permanent 
occupants; these have been bought from all 
parts of Europe, the most recent purchases 
having come from the famous loft of the late 
M. Toulet, of Belgium. A very wise rule 
has been made in stocking these lofts, to 
purchase only the best proved messengers ; 
and no doubt the English naval lofts, if for 
no other purposes, should prove excellent 
breeding establishments, for rearing birds 
with which to stock any lofts that it may now 
be deemed necessary to found in South Africa 
or any of the frontiers of India. 

A noticeable feature in the naval lofts is the 
tameness and tractability of the birds ; this 
is brought about by the naval officers in 
charge of the birds, who are taught to treat 
them with care, for pigeons are most in- 
telligent creatures, and unless their attendant 
is very gentle with them they will not enter 
the loft on their return with a message. 

For the purpose of avoiding complications 
and saving time an excellent plan has been 
adopted : the upper lofts are divided in the 
centre by a recess leading to the trap and 
entrance. On the eastern side of this recess is 






what is described as the south-east loft. 
On the western side is the south-west loft. 
The birds in each loft are ringed with a ring on 
a different leg> odd numbers on one leg, even 
numbers on another, so that at a glance it 
can be seen if a bird is? in its wrong loft. 
The occupants of the south-east loft are 
trained over courses in thai direction, and 
those in the south-west loft treated in the 
same manner. 

The bird's entrance to the loft and exit is 
through a trap ; to reach 
the loft from the trap the 
birds have to pass through 
small boxes or apertures 
just sufficiently large for 
a pigeon to pass through, 
Directly a bird enters one 
of these boxes it is 
automatically shut in by a 
slide which slips down 
behind without any noise, 
and immediately an 
electric bell starts ringing 
in the office below, where- 
upon the attendant pro- 
ceeds into the loft, 
removes the message from 
the bird, and it is let flv into 
its proper quarters without 
any possibility of spoiling 
it from entering again on 
some future occasion. 
The method by which pigeons now carry 
messages is, if anything, a more simple one 
than that adopted in the Franco German War 
of 1870. Each pigeon is, as I have already 
pointed out, known in the log by the metal 
band on its leg and the number. In addition 
to this, the other leg of the bud bears a stout 
rubber ring, and when a message is required 
to be sent, it is placed between the rubber 
ring and the leg, which keeps it in position, 
and the bird has no inclination to settle and 
pick the message off, having always been 
accustomed to wear the rubber band. 

It may not be generally known that France 
and Germany are well equipped with war 
messengers in communication with the 
English coast The Belgian fishing -boats 
frequently bring large numbers of birds up 
the Thames for liberation to return to both 
France and Germany. 

So convinced are Frenchmen that pigeons 
might be a source of danger to their com- 
munity that no foreigner is allowed to keep 
racing pigeons in France ; and when English 
pigeons are sent there for liberation they 
have to undergo the supervision of the 

Original from 





From a i'huln. b\f\ 

French Customs 
and the Commis- 
sioner of Police, 
who attest to their 
liberation, for the 
danger to be 
feared is not so 
much of the birds 
knowing the dis- 
trict over which 
they have passed, 
but of spies being 
in possession of 
pigeons with which 
they could send 
prompt news to 
the enemy. 

The illustration 
herewith depicts a 
loft in possession 
of the Boers, and 
there is no doubt 

they are making use of pigeons for spy pur- 
poses. One English fancier in Johannesburg, 
who had a very large established loft, in order 
to prevent the Boers using them, cut the 
feathers off one wing of each bird, so they 
were useless for carrying despatches. lie 
was imprisoned in Pretoria, but managed to 
escape and get through to Cape Colony. 

Some people are under the belief that 
pigeons could be of service in taking as well 
as bringing messages to the same place, and 
a tale is often told of the fair maiden con- 
fined in the upper storey of her house so 
that she should not communicate with the 
lover her father had forbidden her to meet, 
sending him messages and receiving them 
back by the same bird ; the true explana- 
tion of this being that the pigeons were 
lowered in a basket, and simply carried 
messages back to the lady-love. 

Pigeons have been of service on more 
occasions than one in saving life, A person 
who was once crossing an unfrequented moor 
fell down a deep pit and broke his leg. For- 
tunately a pigeon he had with him in a 
basket carried the news from the mouth of 
the pit to his home. He was thus able to 
obtain succour in time to save his life. 

How invaluable in the same manner might 
pigeons have been to those gallant fellows at 
Nicholson's Nek, for had they been able to 
communicate their position and danger to 
the head-quarter staff at Lady smith, it might 
have saved the first of the series of disasters 
by which our troops were overtaken ; but un 
fortunately there were no established lofts at 
Ladysmitb to which a pigeon could return 



with the news, and, as I have pointed out, it 
is only to its established loft and home that 
the messenger will fly* 

The greatest living authority on pigeons 
is Mr. J, W, Logan, M.P. Discussing the 
question as to whether pigeons would be 
useful or not in England in time of w T ar> 
he contends that so long as we keep com- 
mand of the Channel no invading army can 
land in England, but if we do lose command 
of the channel, and an army should land in 
England numerous and powerful enough to 
surround London, then a pigeon post will 
not save us, for London could not hold 
out for many days for want of food. Mr. 
Logan goes on to add: " I say that instead 
of bothering about a pigeon post for use 
when an army has landed, we had 
far better make perfectly sure, as far 
as we humanly can, that no invading army 
shall ever land This means command of 
the Channel, and carries with it, to my lay 
mind, the ability to communicate by land by 
means of a despatch-boat; but," Mr, Logan 
adds, " matters are altogether different in 
South Africa and on our Indian frontiers; for 
instance. South Africa is a continent belong- 
ing to different Powers, the conditions of 
warfare are somewhat on all fours with what 
occurs on the Continent of Europe, and a 
well-organized pigeon post might prove of the 
very greatest service," 

In the recent Spanish - American War 
America made good use of pigeons on 
several occasions, and the American navy is 
well supplied with thoroughly equipped and 
established pigeon lofts. 

Original from 



At the forthcoming Paris Exhibition 
arrangements have been made to devote a 
department to these messengers. Mons. 
Van Roosbecke has the management of 
this department It is he who is renowned 
for the services he rendered to France in 
1870 in managing the military pigeon post, 
in the same manner as an English fancier 
volunteered to go to the front in Ladysmith 
and organize a pigeon post there. This 
gentleman's name is Mr. A. Hirst, who 
formerly lived in Yorkshire before emigrat- 
ing to South Africa. 

The only pigeons available in South 
Africa were those lent by Mr. Lee and those 
belonging to a few fanciers in Durban, and 
it is a pity that military lofts had not been 
established previous to the war. 

As an example of the retentive memory of 
a messenger pigeon, they have been known 
to regain their homes after three or four years' 
confinement in foreign lofts, and on their 
return have fought like gamecocks for their 
old perches in the loft. 

It may be interesting to relate how far 
back pigeons have been trained as messen- 
gers. Egyptian records seem to show that 
war pigeons were recognised in the Nineteenth 
Dynasty (about 1350 B.C.). Grecian and Latin 
authors can also trace their history back to 
the days of Anacreon, Socrates, and Aristotle, 
so that it will be seen that pigeons have been 
of practical service for many centuries. 
When the great Battle of Waterloo was 
fought, pigeons conveyed the first news of 
the victory to the coast line, and thence by 
fast boat specially chartered for the purpose 
to London, on behalf of Messrs. Rothschilds, 
who thus obtained the news in advance of 
all other sources, and netted an immense 
fortune by doing so. 

The pigeons that are used for carrying 
messages are bred solely for the purpose. 
Generation after generation they are trained, 
and the bad ones get lost. The young 
birds, after acquiring the power of flight and 
learning the contour of the country in their 
circuits around home, are taken by gradual 
stages over the course they are required to 
fly. First they are liberated at one mile, 
then two, and by gradually increased stages. 
This training is absolutely essential if birds 
are to be relied upon as messengers. The 
birds most valued are almost all descended 
from the racing pigeon — k pigeon voyageur — 
of Belgium, in which country pigeon-racing 
has been carried on for many years, and has 
attained its highest development, and it is 

by Google 

from Belgium that France, Germany, Eng- 
land, and other countries have obtained 
most of their best birds in the past 

In England at the present time there are 
over twenty thousand fanciers owning prob- 
ably five hundred thousand birds, all of 
which would be willingly placed at the service 
of the English Government in case of 

Of course great danger exists in a mes- 
senger being shot by the enemy when 
attempting to return to its loft, but far mere 
reliance could be placed on getting news 
through an enemy's lines than by runner. 

The management of a pigeon loft is a very 
simple matter : the birds require food, such 
as peas and beans, of the best possible 
quality, and, as with the case of all animals, 
must be kept perfectly clean and given fresh 
svater daily. 

As will be seen from the illustration of the 
Boer loft, they do not require a very elegant 
house to live in, but at the same time cats 
have a partiality for messengers, and the 
home has to be constructed out of reach of 
visitors of this description. 

In India several lofts have been established 
at Secunderabad and Deccan by *' Tommy 
Atkins," and it is hoped that now the valuable 
services have been so strikingly proved 
by the Ladysmith pigeons, no time will be 
lost in establishing military lofts throughout 

In New Zealand the Great Barrier pigeon 
post has been established, and the New 
Zealand Parliament recognise the value of 
these messengers by allowing their owners to 
train them free of cost over the State railways. 

Unfortunately, pigeons are frequently shot 
when returning to their homes. An Act 
of Parliament makes this penal if done 
wilfully and unlawfully. It is to be hoped 
that those who have now, for the first 
time, been made acquainted with the value 
of these birds as messengers, will hold 
their hand should an opportunity offer 
when out shooting, and think of the value 
of the brave little bird and the important 
message it may be in the act of conveying. 

The value of these birds depends much 
upon their good qualities. The highest price 
ever paid for birds of this description was at 
a sale of Mr. J. W. Logan's birds in 1886, 
when some of the birds were knocked down 
at ^30, ^40, and ^50 each, and there is 
no doubt at the present time that many of 
the finest birds in the world are descended 
from this famous breeder's stock. 

Original from 


Pictures on Fungi. 
By George Dollar. 

HERE is hardly a thing in 
Nature which may not be 
turned to a beautiful or a useful 
end. Witness, for instance, 
the beautiful illustrations in 
this article. At first sight you 

would think them to be the product of the 

potter's art, decorated by the deft hand of 

some designer. They stand out boldly on 

the p^ge, and the lover of figure and land- 
scape feels a passing pleasure when looking 

at their delicate and graceful 

lines- Had we not already told 

you in our title what these 

pretty pictures show, you would 

be surprised to find that they 

are not a potter's work, but 

merely etchings on the fungus 

growth of trees. 

They are, moreover, but a 

few of a remarkable collection 

belonging to Mrs. Martha P, 

Cooper, a portrait painter, who 

lives in Concord, New Hamp- 
shire. She has been at work 

upon her collection for nine 

successive years, and has spent 

her summers and her leisure 

time visiting the primeval wilds 

of the New England States, 

hunting tirelessly for these 

curious canvases, which Nature 

provides all too rarely. In a 

letter she tells us of a visit to 

the Bradford Sulphur Springs 

in September, 1891^ with a 

party of ladies and gentlemen. 

** During the visit," so Mrs. 

Cooper writes, " the gentlemen 

of the party came to me and 

said they had found some very 

Digitized by Google 

wonderful formations upon the 'dead wood, 
which they were waiting to gather for me. 
They had seen something marked upon 
them which led them to think that, by care- 
ful manipulation, a picture could he worked 
out very effectively ; and would I take up 
the work?" 

The idea did not appeal to the artist, but 
after deliberation she decided to see what 
could be done with the fungi. Her friends 
brought her not only beautiful formations of 






fungi, but pictures to be reproduced thereon. 
u I shut myself in my room,* 1 she writes ; 
" day after day I studied, getting acquainted 
with the* quality and character of the pigment 
that lay beneath their creamy surface. I 
gradually learned to be fascinated with Lheir 
sepia tints, and wondered what it all meant — 
that after the stump and tree became lifeless 


these unique formations came out Some 
of them/' the writer sympathetically adds, 
M were fan-shaped, child-like, and pure as the 
lily that springs up from the muddy waters 
in symmetrical beauty* sensitiveness, and 

Others were grotesque and incapable of 
being engraved upon. But enough perfect 

formations were 
found to keep up 
her interest for 
weeks. These, with 
the additions of 
future years, have 
formed a collection 
of great value, and 
one undoubtedly 
uniqu e in the 
United States. 

The illustrations 
reproduced show a 
variety of subjects 
mainly connected 
with familiar New 
England scenes. 
The head-piece to 
our article is a 
graphic copy of 
Lorolles's " Shep- 
herd ess,' 1 The 
illustration at the 
Original from 




bottom of the first page represents the 
famous "Old Man"t>rthe White Mountains, 
and a New Hampshire lake scene depicted 
on a fungus jin, wide. The others possess 
little except a local interest to justify a title. 
They are all landscapes, because, as Mrs. 
Cooper says, " nothing hut a landscape is in 
harmony with the growth," None, again, is 
desirable except that fungus formation which 
has a white frame around it, a feature 
prominently shown in all the photographs 

Unfortunately this quality of fungi is very 
rare, " I have hunted over miles and miles 
of forestry," adds Mrs. Cooper on this point, 
** without finding one reliable formation. I 
have been rowed over the waters of Lake 
Winn i pise ogee and Lake Sunapee, in ex- 
pectation of finding superior formations, for I 
had been told they grew abundantly upon 
the banks of these waters. Yet I found 

The pictures are drawn by running sharp 
steel points through the creamy-coloured face 
of the fungus, furrowing up a brown tint 
thereon. The design is roughly marked out, 
and the detail put in afterwards just as an 
ordinary painter works upon his canvas. All 
of the fungi are of an exceedingly sensitive 
nature, and the woods which afford the best 
material on which to work are the yellow and 
black beeches* and the yellow, grey, and 
black birches. 

Mrs* Cooper's 
collection can- 
not be dupli- 
cated, simply be- 
cause Nature 
never repeats her- 
self, "I have," 
she says, " some 
growths an inch 
and a half across, 
others a foot and 
a half, yet all fan- 
shaped. I value 
them from three 
dollars to seventy- 
five dollars each, 
and enjoy prepar- 
ing them as I 
have never en- 
joyed any other 
branch of art, I 
have sold many of 
them to travellers, 
and my work 
gladdens the homes of the West as well 
as the East," There are many, we may 
add, in the United States to-day who, under 
Mrs. Cooper's care, have learnt to use the 
fungi for decorative purposes, but none more 
skilfully than she. With her k has been 
mostly a labour of love, and it grows to 
greater beauty each succeeding year. 



Prim <i Phato- kg Lvthivi* -£ CunAiAgham, LotnfH, Mats. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Master of Craft, 

By W, W. Jacobs. 

PPONENTS of medicine have 
hit upon a means of cleansing 
the system by abstaining for 
a time from food, and drink- 
ing a quantity of fair water. 
It is stated to clear the eyes 
and the skin, and to cause a feeling of light- 
ness and buoyancy undreamt of by those 
who have never tried it All people, perhaps, 
are not affected exactly alike, and Captain 
Flower, while admitting the lightness, would 
have disdainfully contested any charge of 
buoyancy. Against this objection it may be 
said that he was not a model patient, and had 
on several occasions wilfully taken steps to 
remove the feeling of lightness. 

It was over a fortnight since his return 
to London. The few shillings obtained for 
his watch had disappeared days before ; rent 
was due and the cupboard was empty. The 
time seemed so long to him that Poppy and 
Seabridge and the Foam might have belonged 
to another period of existence. At the risk 
of detection he had hung round the Wheelers' 
night after night for a glimpse of the girl for 
whom he was enduring all these hardships, 
but without success. He became a prey to 
nervousness and, unable to endure the sus- 
pense any longer, determined to pay a 
stealthy visit to Wapping and try and see 

He chose the night on which in the 
ordinary state of affairs the schooner should 
be lying alongside the wharf ; and, keeping a 
a keen look-out for friends and 
foirs both, made his way to 
the Minories and down Tower 
HilL He had pictured it as teem- 
ing with people he knew, and the 
bare street and closed warehouses, 
with a chance docker or two 
slouching slowly along, struck him 
with an odd sense of disappoint- 
ment; The place seemed changed. 
He hurried past the wharf ; that 
too was deserted, and after a loving 
peep at the spars of his schooner 
he drifted slowly across the road to 
the Albion, and, pushing the door a 
little way open, peeped cautiously "pushing 

Copyright, 1900, by W P W, Jacobs, 


The faces were all unfamiliar, and 
letting the door swing quietly back he 
walked on until he came to the Town of 

The public bar was full Tired workers 
were trying to forget the labours of the day 
in big draughts of beer, while one of therji 
had thrown off his fatigue sufficiently to 
show a friend a fancy step of which he was 
somewhat vain. It was a difficult and 
intricate step for a crowded bar, and panic- 
stricken men holding their beer aloft called 
wildly upon him to stop, while the barman, 
leaning over the counter, strove to make his 
voice heard above the din. The dancer's 
feet subsided into a sulky shuffle, and a tall 
seaman, removing the tankard which had 
obscured his face, revealed the honest 
features of Joe, The sight of him and the 
row of glasses and hunches of bread and 
cheese behind the bar was irresistible/ The 

by Google 


in the Untied Slates of America. 

Original from 



skipper caught a departing customer by the 
coat and held him. 

"Do me a favour, old man," he said, 

" Wot d'ye want ? " asked the other, 

" Tell that tall chap in there that a friend of 
his is waiting outside," said Flower, pointing 
to Joe. 

He walked off a little way as the man 
re-entered the. bar. A second or two later 
the carman came out alone. 

" 'E ses come inside, 'e ses, if you want to 
see 'im." 

" I can't," said Flower. 

" Why not ? " asked the other, as a horrible 
suspicion dawned upon him. " Strewth, you 
ain't a teetotaler, are you ? " 

" No," replied the skipper, " but I can't go 

" Well, 'e won't come out," said the other ; 
"'e seems to be a short-tempered sort o' 

"I must see him," said the skipper, 
pondering. Then a happy thought struck 
him, and he smiled at his cleverness. " Tell 
him a little flower wants to see him," he said, 

"A little wot?" demanded the carman, 

" A little flower," repeated the other. 

" Where is she ? " inquired the carman, 
casting his eyes about him. 

"You just say that," said the skipper, 
hurriedly. "You shall have a pint if you 
do. He'll understand." 

It was unfortunate for the other that the 
skipper had set too high an estimation on 
Joe's intelligence, for the information being 
imparted to him in the audible tones of con- 
fidence, he first gave his mug to Mr. William 
Green to hold, and then knocked the 
ambassador down. The loud laugh con- 
sequent on the delivery of the message ceased 
abruptly, and in the midst of a terrific 
hubbub Joe and his victim, together with two 
or three innocent persons loudly complain- 
ing that they hadn't finished their beer, were 
swept into the street. 

"He'll be all right in a minute, mate," 
said a bystander to Joe, anxiously; "don't 
run away." 

" 'Tain't so likely," said Joe, scornfully. 

"Wot did you 'it me for ? " demanded the 
victim, turning a deaf ear to two or three 
strangers who were cuddling him affection- 
ately and pointing out, in alluring whispers, 
numberless weak points in Joe's fleshly 

Vol. xix.— 22. 

Digitized by dOOQle 

" I'll 'it you agin if you come into a pub 
making a fool of me afore people," replied 
the sensitive seaman, blushing hotly with the 
recollection of the message. 

" He told me to," said the carman, point- 
ing to Flower, who was lurking in the back- 

The tall seaman turned fiercely and strode 
up to him, and then, to the scandal of the 
bystanders and the dismay of Mr. William 
Green, gave a loud yell and fled full speed 
up the road. Flower followed in hot pursuit, 
and owing, perhaps, to the feeling of light- 
ness before mentioned, ran him down nearly 
a mile farther on, Mr. Green coming in a 
good second. 

" Keep orf," panted the seaman, backing 
into a doorway. " Keep — it — orf ! " 

" Don't be a fool, Joe," said the skipper. 

"Keep orf," repeated the trembling sea- 

His fear was so great that Mr. Green, who 
had regarded him as a tower of strength and 
courage, and had wormed himself into the 
tall seaman's good graces by his open 
admiration of these qualities, stood appalled 
at his idol's sudden lack of spirit. 

" Don't be a fool, Joe," said the skipper, 
sharply ; " can't you see it'j me ? " 

" I thought you was drownded," said the 
trembling seaman, still regarding him sus- 
piciously. " I thought you was a ghost." 

" Feel that," said Flower, and gave him a 
blow in the ribs which almost made him 
regret that his first impression was not the 
correct one. 

" I'm satisfied, sir," he said, hastily. 

" I was picked up and carried off to Riga : 
but for certain reasons I needn't go into I 
want my being alive kept a dead secret. 
You mustn't breathe a word to anybody, 
d'ye understand? Not a word." 

" Aye, aye, sir," said Joe ; " you hear that, 

" Who the deuce is this ? " demanded the 
skipper, who had not bargained for another 

" It's the new 'and, sir," said Joe. " 111 
be answerable for 'im." 

Flower eyed the pair restlessly, but Mr. 
Green assured him with a courtly bow that 
Mr. Smith's assurances might be relied upon. 
"He hoped he was a gentleman," he said, 

"Some of us thought — I thought," said 
Joe, with a glance at the skipper, " that the 
mate shoved you overboard." 

" You always were a fool," commented the 

Original from 


r 7° 


"Yes, sir," said Joe, dutifully, and as they 
moved slowty back along the road gave him 
the latest information about Seabridge and 
the Foam, 

" The Swallmtfs just come up in the tier," 
he concluded ; " and if you want to see Mr, 
Fraser, I'll go and see if he ? s aboard." 

The skipper agreed, and after exacting 
renewed assurances of secrecy from both 
men, waited impatiently m the private bar of 
the Waterman's Anns while they put off from 
the stairs and boarded the steamer. 


In twenty minutes, during which time the 
penniless skipper affected not to notice the 
restless glances of the landlord, they returned 
with Fraser, and a hearty meeting took place 
between the two men. The tarnished skipper 
was provided with meat and drink, while the 
two A.B.'s wetted their thirst in the adjoin- 
ing bar. 

41 You've had a rough time/' said Fraser, as 
the skipper concluded a dramatic recital of 
his adventures. 

Flower smiled broadly, " I've come out 

by tj 



of it right side uppermost," he said, taking a 
hearty pull at his tankard; "the worst part 
was losing my money. Still, its all in the 
day's work, Joe tells me that Elirabeth is 
walking out with Gibson, so you see it has all 
happened as 1 bargained for " 
" Fve heard so," said Fraser. 
"It's rather soon after my death," said 
Flower, thoughtfully ; " she's been driven 
into it by her mother, I expect How is 

Fraser told him. 

41 I couldn't wish her in better hands, 
Jack," said the other, heartily, when he 
had finished; "one of these days when 
she knows everything— at least, as much 
as I shall tell her — shell be as grateful to 
you as what I am." 

" You've come back just in time," said 
Fraser, slowly ; "another week, and you'd 
have lost her/' 

1 ■ J ,ost her ? " repeated Flower, 

She's going to New Zealand," 
replied the other ; "she's got 
some relations there; She 
met an old friend of her 
father's the other day, Cap- 
tain Martin, master of the 
Golden Chud y and he has 
offered her a passage. They 
sail on Saturday from the 
\\\ Albert Dock." 

*U^W Flower pushed the 

tankard from him, and 
regarded him in con- 

"She mustn't go," he 
said, decisively. 

Fraser shrugged his 
shoulders. " I tried to 
persuade her not to, but 
it was no use. She said 
there was nothing to stay 
in England for ; she's 
quite alone T and there 
is nobody to miss her," 
" Poor girl," said Flower, softly, and sat 
crumbling his bread and gazing reflectively 
at a soda-water advertisement on the wall 
He sat so long in this attitude that his 
companion also turned and studied it. 

"She mustn't go," said Flower, at length- 
"I'll go down and see her to-morrow 
night. You go first and break the news 
to her, and I'll follow on, Do it gently, 
Jack- Its quite safe ; there's nobody she 
can talk to now ; she's left the Wheelers, 
and Pm simply longing to see her. You 

Original from 



what it is to be 



by the time I get home, even to the names 
of the craft I was cast away in. And I can 
say I heard of Elizabeth's marriage from 
somebody I met in New Zealand 111 
manage all right," 

The master of the Swallow gazed at him 
in helpless fascination, 

u They want hands on the Golden Cloud" 
he said, slowly j " but what about your 
discharges ? " 

*' I can get those/' said Flower^ com- 
placently ; " a man with money and brains 
can do anything. Lend me a pound or two 
before I forget it, will you ? And if you'll 
give me Poppy's address, I'll be outside the 
house at seven to-morrow* Lord, fancy 
being on the same ship with her for three 

He threw down a borrowed sovereign on 
the counter, and, ordering some more drinks, 
placed them on the table, Fraser had raised 
his to his lips when he set it down again, 
and with a warning finger called the other's 
attention to the remarkable behaviour of 
the door communicating with the next bar, 
which, in open defiance of the fact that it 
possessed a patent catch of the latest pattern, 
stood open at least three or four inches. 

" Draught?" questioned Flower, staring at 
the phenomenon. 

The other shook his head, " I'd forgotten 
those two chaps," he said, in a low voice ; 
" they've been listening." 

Flower shifted in his seat. H Fd trust Joe 
anywhere/' he said, uneasily, 
"but I don't know about 
the other chap. If he starts 
talking at Seabridge I'm 
done. I thought Joe was 
alone when I sent in for 

Fraser tapped his chin 
with his fingers. "I'll try 
and get 'em to ship with me. 
I want a couple of hands," 
he said, slowly, " I'll have 
them under my eye then, 
and, besides, they're better at 
Bittlesea than Seabridge in 
any case." 

He rose noisily, and fol- 
lowed by Flower entered the 
next bar. Twenty minutes 
afterwards Flower bade them 
all a hearty good-night, and 
Mr. Green, walking back to 
the schooner with Joe, dwelt 
complacently on the advan- 
c it's quits ra5y to get wkeck ED," HE 8Atj>, cm eehfu LLv*" tages of possessing a style and 


don't know 

M What am I to tell her ? " inquired the 
other, hastily. 

£( Tell her I was saved," was the reply, 
" I'll do the rest. By Jove, Pve got it." 

He banged the table so hard that his plate 
jumped and the glasses in the bar rattled in 

"Anything wrong with the grub," inquired 
the landlord, severely. 

Flower, who was all excitement, shook his 

" Because if there is/' continued the 
landlord, " I'd sooner you spoke of it than 
smash the table ; never mind about hurting 
my feelings." 

He wiped down the counter to show that 
Flower's heated glances had no effect upon 
him ) withdrawing reluctantly to serve an 
impatient customer, 

"I'll go down to-morrow r morning to the 
Golden Cloud and try and ship before the 
mast," said Flower, excitably ; " get married 
out in New Zealand, and then come home 
when things are settled. What do you think 
of that, my boy ? How does that strike 

" How will it strike Cap'n Barber ? " asked 
Fraser, as soon as he had recovered suffi- 
ciently to speak. 

Flower's eyes twinkled. u It's quite easy 
to get wrecked and picked up once or twice," 
he said, cheerfully. "I'll have my story pat 



address which had enabled them to exchange 
the rudeness of Ben for the appreciative 
amiability of Captain Fraser. 

Flower was punctual to the minute next 
evening, and shaking hands hastily with 
Fraser, who had gone down to the door to 
wait for him, went in alone to see Miss TyrelL 
Fraser, smoking his pipe on the doorstep, 
gave him a quarter of an hour, and then went 
upstairs, Miss Tyrell making a futile attempt 
to escape from the captain's encircling arm as 
he entered the room. Flower had just com- 
menced the recital of his adventures. He 
broke off as the other entered, but being 
urged by Miss Tyrell to continue, glanced 
somewhat sheepishly at his friend before 

" When I rose to the surface," he said, 
slowly, " and saw the ship drawing away in 
the darkness and heard the cries on board, 
I swam as strongly as I could towards it. 
I was weighed down by my clothes, and I 
had also struck my head going overboard, 
and I felt that every moment was my last, 
when I suddenly bumped up against the 
lifebelt. I just had strength to put that on 
and give one faint hail, and then I think for 
a time I lost my senses." 

Miss Tyrell gave an exclamation of pity ; 
Mr. Fraser made a noise which might have 
been intended for the same thing. 

" The rest of it was like a dream," con- 
tinued Flower, pressing the girl's hand; 
" sometimes my eyes were open and some- 
times not. I heard the men pulling about 
and hailing me without being able to reply. 
By-and-by that ceased, the sky got grey 
and the water brown ; all feeling had gone 
out of me. The sun rose and burnt in the 
salt on my face ; then, as I rose and fell like a 
cork on the waters, your face seemed to come 
before me, and I determined to live." 

" Beautiful," said Fraser, involuntarily. 

"I determined to live," repeated Flower, 
glancing at him defiantly* "I brushed the 
wet hair from my eyes, and strove to move 
my chilled limbs. Then I shouted, and 
anything more dreary than that shout across 
the waste of water I cannot imagine, but it 
did me good to hear my own voice, and I 
shouted again," 

He paused for breath, and Fraser, taking 
advantage of the pause, got up hurriedly and 
left the room, muttering something about 

" He doesn't like to hear of your suffer- 
ings," said Poppy. 

"I suppose not," said Flower, whose 
eloquence had received a chill, " but there 

Digitized by O* 

is little more to telL I was picked up by a 
Russian brig bound for Riga, and lay there 
for some time in a state of fever. When I 
got better I worked my passage home in a 
timber boat and landed yesterday. * 

"What a terrible experience," said Poppy, 
as Fraser entered the room again. 

" Shocking," said the latter. 

" And now you've got your own ship 
again," said the giri, "weren't your crew 
delighted to see you ? " 

"Fve not seen them yet," said Flower, 
hesitatingly. " I shipped on another craft 
this morning before the mast." 

" Before the mast? " repeated the giri, in 

"Full-rigged ship Golden Cloud, bound 
for New Zealand," said Flower, slowly, 
watching the effect of his words — " we're to 
be shipmates*" 

Poppy Tyrell started up with a faint cry, 
bat Flower drew her gently down again. 

" We'll be married in New Zealand," he 
said, softly, " and then we'll come back and 
I'll have my own again, jack told me you 
were going out on her. Another man has 
got my craft ; he lost the one he had before, 
and I want to give him a chartce for a few 
months, poor chap, to redeem his character. 
Besides, it'll be a change. We shall see the 
world. It'll just be a splendid honeymoon." 

"Yon didn't tell Captain Martin?" in- 
quired the girl, as she drew back in her 
chair and eyed him perplexedly. 

" Not likely," said Flower, with a laugh. 
"I've shipped in the name of Robert Orth. 
I bought the man's discharges this morning. 
He's lying in bed, poor chap, waiting for his 
last now, and hoping itll be marked * v.g/ n 

Poppy was silent. For a moment her 
eyes, dark and inscrutable, met Fraser's ; 
then she looked away, and in a low voice 
addressed Flower. 

" I suppose you know best what is to be 
done," she said, quietly. 

"You leave it to me," said Flower, in 
satisfied tones. " Pm at the wheeL" 

There was a long silence. Poppy got up 
and crossed to the window, and, resting her 
cheek on her hand, sat watching the rest- 
less life of the street The room darkened 
slowly with the approach of evening. Flower 
rose and took the seat opposite, and Fraser, 
who had been feeling in the way for some 
time, said that he most go. 

" You sail to-morrow evening, Jack? " said 
Flower, with a careless half-turn towards him. 

" About six," was the reply. 

" We sail Saturday evening at seven," 

u\ I I '.' I I I 




said Rower, and took 
the girl's hand in his 
own. " It will be odd 
to see you on board, 
Poppy, and not to be 
able to speak to you ; 
hut we shall be able to 
look at each other, 
shan't we?" 

" Captain Martin 
is a strict disciplin- 
arian/ 1 said Poppy. 

"Well he cant 
prevent us looking 
at each other/ 5 said 
Flower, " and he 
can J t prevent us 
marrying when we 
get to the other 
end. Good-night, 
Jack. Next time 
you see us we'll be 
an old married couple, rt 

"A quick passage and 
a safe Teturn," said 
Eraser, * Good-night.* 

Poppy Tyrell just gave him her small hand, 
and that was all. Flower, giving him a 
hearty grip, accompanied him as far as the 
door of the room. He looked back as he 
gained the pavement, and the last he saw of 
them they were sitting at the open window. 
Flower leaned out and waved his hand in 
farewell, but Poppy made no sign. 

In the rising seaport of Bittlesea Captain 
Fraser, walking slowly along the quay on the 
fateful Saturday, heard the hour of seven 
strike from the tower of the old church 
wedged in between the narrow streets at the 
back of the town. The little harbour with 
its motley collection of craft vanished : he 
heard the sharp, hoarse cries of command 
on the Golden doud^ and saw the bridge 
slowly opening to give egress to the tug 
which had her in tow. He saw her shapely 
hull and tapering spars glide slowly down the 
river, while Poppy Tyrell, leaning against the 
side, took her last look at Ixmdon. He 
came back with a sigh to reality : the Swaittn® 
had dwindled to microscopical proportions, 
and looked dirty ; Bittlesea itself had the 
appearance of a village with foolish aspira- 
tions to be considered a port, and he noticed, 
with a strong sense of pity tempered with 
disdain, the attentions of two young towns- 
men to a couple of gawky girls in white 

Digitized by C.OOQlc 

POPFV 5AT WATCHIMfl T\*Y- FfcSTl.frlSS I It-h 

With a feeling that the confinement 
of the house would be insupportable, 
he roamed idly about until the day 
gave place to twilight, and the red eye 
of the lightship on the horizon peeped 
suddenly across the water. Bittlesea was 
dull to aching point ; a shirt-sleeved house- 
holder or two sat in his fragrant front garclen 
smoking, and a murmur of voices and shag 
tobacco floated out from tavern doorways. 
He paced up and dovvn the quay, until the 
necessity of putting a stop to the vagaries 
of his crew furnished him with a little whole- 
some diversion. 

In their quest for good beer Mr, Green 
and Joe had left themselves in the hands of 
the other members of the crew, and had 
gone off with them in a body to the Cap 
and Bells, where, in a most pointed fashion, 
Mr Green, who had been regarding the fire- 
man's complexion for some time with much 
displeasure, told the boy to go back to the 
ship and get his face washed. 

" He's all right, ain't you, Tommy ? " said 
the cook, corning to the rescue. 

"Boys ought to keep their faces clean," 
said Mr. Green, impressively; "there's 
nothing more unpleasant than a face what 
wants washing. You don't want to grow up 
like that, do you ? I^ook at it, joe," 

u It might be cleaner," said Joe, thus 
appealed to, slowly; "likewise it might be 

" It might be much dirtier," said Mr. 
Green, emphatically ; *' anybody with eyes in 
their f ed can see that/' 

There i^& bii. 1 awkward pause, during 




which the fireman, with one eye peeping 
furtively from beyond the rim of a quart pot, 
saw both Joe and the cook kick Mr. Green's 
foot to call his attention to the fact that his 
words might be misconstrued by another 
member of the party. 

" I 'ate toffs," he said, deliberately, as he 
placed his mug on the counter. 

11 They're all right when you know 'em, 
Charlie," said Joe, who was averse to having 
the evening spoiled at that early hour. 

" A real toff's bad enough," continued the 
fireman, " but a himitation one — pah ! " He 
buried his face in the pewter again, and 
laughed discordantly. 

"You go aboard and wash your face, 
Tommy," repeated Mr. Green. "I should 
think you'd find plenty o' soap in Charlie's 

" Do you know what you want ? " de- 
manded the fireman, regarding him fixedly. 

" I know what you want," said Mr. Green, 
with a supercilious smile. 

" Oh ! Wot ? " said the other. 

The seaman rose to his feet and watched 
him carefully. " A banjo," he replied. 

It was not the reply according to time- 
honoured formula, and Charlie, who was 
expecting something quite different, was at 
no pains to hide his perplexity. A banjo f 
he repeated, slowly, " a banjo — a ban ? " 

Light came to him suddenly, and he flew 
at Mr. Green with his fists whirling. In a 
second the bar was in an uproar, and the 
well-meant and self-preservative efforts of Joe 
and the cook to get the combatants into the 
street were frustrated by people outside 
blocking up the doors. They came out at 
last, and Fraser, who was passing, ran over 
just in time to save Mr. Green, who was 
doing his best, from the consequences of a 
somewhat exaggerated fastidiousness. The 
incident, however, afforded a welcome dis- 
traction, and having seen Mr. Green off in 
the direction of the steamer, while the fire- 
man returned to the public-house, he bent 
his steps homewards and played a filial game 
at cards with his father before retiring. 

They sailed for London the following 
afternoon, Mr. Green taking a jaundiced 
view of the world from a couple of black 
eyes, while the fireman openly avowed that 
only the economical limitations of Nature 
prevented him from giving him more* 
Fraser, a prey to gentle melancholy, called 
them to order once or twice, and then left 
them to the mate, a man whose talent for 
ready invective was at once the admiration 
and envy of his peers. 

The first night in London he spent on 
board, and with pencil and paper sat down 
to work out the position of the Golden Cloud. 
He pictured her with snowy pinions out- 
spread, passing down Channel. He pictured 
Poppy sitting on the poop in a deck-chair 
and Flower coming as near as his work 
would allow, exchanging glances with her. 
Then he went up on deck, and, lighting his 
pipe, thought of that never-to-be-forgotten 
night when Poppy had first boarded the Foam. 

The next night his mood changed, and 
unable to endure the confinement of the 
ship, he went for a lonely tramp round the 
streets. He hung round the Wheelers', and, 
after gazing at their young barbarians at play, 
walked round and looked at Flower's late 
lodgings. It was a dingy house, with broken 
railings and an assortment of papers and 
bottles in the front garden, and by no means 
calculated to relieve depression. From there 
he instinctively wandered round to the 
lodgings recently inhabited by Miss TyrelL 

He passed the house twice, and noted with 
gloom the already neglected appearance of 
her front window. The Venetian blind, half 
drawn up, was five or six inches higher one 
side than the other, and a vase of faded 
flowers added to the forlornness of the picture. 
In his present state of mind the faded blooms 
seemed particularly appropriate, and suddenly 
determining to possess them, he walked up 
the steps and knocked at the door, trembling 
like a young housebreaker over his first job. 

" I think I left my pipe here the other 
night," he stammered to the small girl who 
opened it. 

"Ill swear you didn't," said the small 
damsel, readily. 

" Can I go up and see ? " inquired Fraser, 
handing her some coppers. 

The small girl relented, and even offered 
to assist him in his search, but he waved her 
away, and going upstairs sat down and 
looked drearily round the shabby little room. 
An execrable ornament of green and pink 
paper in the fireplace had fallen down, 
together with a little soot; there was dust 
on the table, and other signs of neglect. 
He crossed over to the window and 
secured two or three of the blooms, and 
was drying the stalks on his handkerchief 
when his eye suddenly lighted on a little 
white ball on the mantelpiece, and, hardly 
able to believe in his good fortune, he 
secured a much-darned pair of cotton gloves, 
which had apparently been forgotten in the 
hurry of departure. He unrolled them, and 
pulling out the little shrivelled fingers, 

by L^OOgle 

U 1 1 I U I I I '_' 





regarded them with 
mournful tenderness. 
Then he smoothed 
them out, and folding 
them with reverent 
fingers, placed them 
carefully in his breast- 
pocket, He then 
became conscious 
that somebody 
was regarding his 
antics with amaze- 
ment from the 

"Mr. Fraser!" 
said a surprised 
voice, which tried 
be severe, 

Mr, Fraser bounded 
from his chw, and 
stood regarding the 
intruder with a coun- 
tenance in which 
ever) 1 feature was out- 
vying the other in 

" I thought — you 
— were on the Golden Cfmd" he stammered. 

Miss Tyre! I shook her head and looked 
down. " I missed the ship/' she said, 

" Missed the ship ? " shouted the other ; 
" missed the ship ? Did Flower miss it too ? n 

u I'm afraid not," said Miss Tyrell, even 
more pensively than before. 

44 Ckxxi heavens, I never heard of such a 
thing," said Fraser; "how ever did you 
manage to do it ? " 

** I went to lie down a litte while on 
Saturday afternoon/' said Poppy, reflectively ; 
** I'd got my box packed and everything 
ready ; when I got up it was past seven 
o'clock^ and then I knew it was no use. 
Ships won't wait, you know." 

Fraser gazed at her in amaze- In his 
mind's eye he still saw the deck of the 
Goldtn Cfoud ; but Poppy's deck-chair was 
empty, and Flower, in place of exchanging 
glances with her, was walking about in a state 
equally compounded of wrath and bewilder- 

11 And you had given up your berth in the 
City ? " said Fraser, at length, in concern. 

The consciousness of a little colour in her 
cheek which she could not repress affected 
Miss Tyrell's temper " No," she said, 

*' Didn't you intend to go, then? "asked 
the bewildered Fraser. 

by Google 


" I — oh, will you give me my gloves, 
please, before I forget them?" said Miss 
Tyrell, coldly. 

It was Fraser's turn to colour, and he 
burnt a rich crimson as he fished them 

"I was going to take care of them for 
you," he said, awkwardly- " I came to look 
after a pipe I thought I'd left here." 

" I saw you taking care of them," was the 

There was a pause, during which Miss 
Tyrell took a seat and, folding her hands in 
her lap, gazed at him with the calm gaze 
which comes of perfect misdoing and the 
feminine determination not to own up to it, 
The room was no longer shabby, and Fraser 
was conscious of a strange exaltation, 

H 1 understood that you had given notice 
in the City/ 1 he said, slowly; "but Fm very 
glad that you didn't/' 

Miss Tyrell shook her head, and stooping 
down adjusted the lire- stove ornament. 

" Didn't you intend to go? " repeated the 
tactful seaman. 

" I'd left it open," said Miss Tyrell, 
thoughtfully; {i I hadn't definitely accepted 
Captain Martin's invitation. You jump at 
conclusions so, but of course when I found 
that Captain Flower had shipped before the 
mast for my sake, why, I had to go," 

" So you had," said Fraser, staring* 
Original from 




"There was no help for it," continued Miss 

" Didn't seem like it," said the more 
accurate Fraser, 

His head was in a whirl, and he tried vainly 
to think of the exact terms in which she had 
announced her intention to emigrate, and 
combated the objections which he thought 
himself justified in advancing. He began to 
remember in a misty , uncertain fashion that 
they were somewhat vague and disjointed, 
and for one brief moment he wondered 
whether she had ever had any idea of going 
at all. One glance at the small figure of 
probity opposite was enough, and he repelled 
the dea as unworthy* 

11 1 believe that you are sorry I didn't go," 
said Poppy, suddenly, 

" I'm sorry for Flower," said the other, 

" He will be back in six or seven months," 
said Poppy, gently ; " that 
will soon pass away. 
I shall not be very old to 
marry even then. Per- 
haps it is all for the best 
—I don't like " 

"Don't like 
prompted Fraser. 

" Don't like to be 
hurried," continued 
Miss Tyrell, looking 

There was another 
pause* The girl got 
up and, walking to 
the window, gazed 
out upon the street 

"There is a nice 
air in the streets 
now," she said at 
length, without turn- 
ing round. 

Fraser started. 
Politeness and incli- 
nation fought with 
conscience. The 
allies won, but inclination 
got none of the credit 

" Would yon care to go 
for a walk ? " he asked. 

Miss Tyrell turned, 
regarded him with 
unmistakable air of 




u No, thank you/' she said, in a manner 
which indicated reproof, 

Fraser shifted restlessly, " I thought that 
was what you meant/' he said, indignantly. 

" You jump at conclusions, as I said 
before," remarked Miss Tyrell. " It wouldn't 
be right." 

" I don't see any harm in it," said Fraser, 
stoutly; "we've been before, and Flower 
knows of it/' 

The girl shook her head. " No/' she said, 

To her surprise, that ended the matter* 
The rattle of traffic and the hum of voices 
came in at the open window ; the room 
seemed unwontedly quiet by contrast. Miss 
Tyrell sat reaping the empty reward of 
virtue, and bestowing occasional glances on 
the fine specimen of marine obtuseness in 
the arm-chair. 

" I hope that I am not keepings** from a 
walk/' she observed* at length. 
" No," said Fraser. 

He rose in confusion, wondering whether 
for him to go, and after a 
supreme mental effort decided that 
it was, and murmured something 
about getting back to the ship. 
Poppy shook hands with him pa- 
tiently. It is always a sad thing to 
see a fine young man lacking in 
intelligence, Some of her pity 
perhaps showed in her eyes. 

u Are you going ? " she asked, 
with a shade of surprise in her 

I suppose so," he murmured* 
u Which means that you want 
a walk, but don't like leaving me 
here alone, I suppose/* said Miss 
Tyrell, resignedly. (( Very well, 
I will come." 

She left him for a 
moment in search of her 
hat, and then, putting 
aside the gloves she was 
about to don in favour 
of those he had endea- 
voured to secrete, led 
the way downstairs. Her 
composure was sufficient 
for two, which was just 
the quantity required at 
that moment 

(To be continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

Peculiar Pets. 

By Albert H. Broadwell. 

HERE are few readers 
of The Strand 
Magazine who can- 
not recall to-day the 
valued friendship of 
a certain dumb crea- 
ture into whose ready ears the little 
troubles and worries of child-life 
were poured : a little creature that 
never denied the truth of all we 
said and that quickly recognised 
the injustice of all things — with a 
hasty lick or, maybe, a friendly 
scratch. Times change, however, 
and- as the little Briton as he was 
then grows bigger — mostly in his 
own estimation — he travels, and in 
his travels he gathers pets for the 
folks at home. Some thrive exceed- 
ingly well, others perish in the 
attempt ; but there are enough out- 
landish pets that have been the 
joy of their owners to illustrate an 
article which is intended to show 
how easily the most unlikely ani- 
mals and reptiles will become 
staunch friends of man when sufficient 
patience and perseverance, not unmixed with 
kindness— and sometimes punishment — are 
called into requisition* 

Fancy finding a full grown leopard sitting 
in yoiir favourite arm-chair upon your return 
home — in that very arm-chair where peaceful 
pussy should he curled up in sleep ; yet look 
at " King " — he is waiting for his master, 

h'rom uj 



Vol, iU— 23, 

Mr, J. Arnold Wallinger, of the Bombay 
District Police, Ahmedabad, India, Speak- 
ing on the subject of his pets, Mr. Wallinger 
very naturally grows enthusiastic. He has 
an interesting story to tell 

44 My pets," he says, u are extraordinarily 
tame, a fact which is due to an operation 
performed on them by me. When about 
twelve months old, first the male and then 
the female had their canine teeth ampu- 
tated under chloroform, which was 
administered with skilled assistance. The 
operation was of itself a very interesting 
and novel one, and showed among other 

things that the use 
of a saw was inad- 
visable, as the 
outer enamel was 
too hard. Inconse- 
quence of this 
initial error in the 
choice of a suit- 
able operating 
instrument the 
male was under 
the influence of 
the drug for a long 
period, subse- 
quently necessitat- 
ing artificial respi- 


! 7 8 



From a Pkatoffrap/L 

ration and the administration of strong 
stimulants under obviously difficult condi- 
tions. In die case of the female a file was 
used with far greater ease and less expendi- 
ture of time. The animals, even when so 
young, were very powerful, and had to be 
bound by slip knots previously arranged and 
held in position by men specially appointed. 

"The men who have constant dealings 
with these two panthers treat them almost as 
if they were dogs. Since the operation 
referred to no accident of any kind has 
taken place* At first they w + ere extremely 
timid, and would when frightened scratch 
and give small wounds. Before the opera- 
tion, however, King had developed a 
tendency to stalk 
animals and boys, 
of which it was 
not possible to 
break him. On 
one occasion a 
boy, who came 
into the garden for 
the first time as a 
labourer, seeing 
the panther, 
bolted, and, partly 
in play and partly 
in earnest, the 
panther gave 
chase. The boy 
fell, and the pan- 
ther cub, seeing 
the opportunity, 
w r as on top of him 
like a knife, and 
had inflicted 
wounds on the 

back of the neck with his unamputatcd 
canine teeth before assistance could be 
rendered. After this event it was necessary 
to thrash the animal unmercifully, and 
subsequently, as already related, his canine 
teeth were removed and his claws were burnt 
down periodically with a hot iron. 

11 My pets are fed on cooked meat once 
daily, and starved once a week to keep them 
in good condition. During the hot months 
King has displayed a great partiality for 
the luxuries of a cold bath. With this object 
he will quietly step into an ordinary zinc tub 
and remain there until cooled* It is a well- 
known fact that these feline species object to 
water, and the exception in Kings case is 
somewhat extraordinary. ' Queen T is no 
exception to the ordinary rule, and objects to 
water strongly, The clever photos* of my 
pets were taken with great difficulty by Mr* 
A- R. Kavde, of Ahmedabad," 

From leopards to pigs seems a big drop. 
Yet as regards strangeness in the taste for 
pets there is but little to choose. Algernon, 
or 4i Algy," is a pig that weighed a fraction 
over a pound at the time the phot a was 
taken, That he takes kindly to the bottle 
you will observe; his eyes are closed, and it 
is doubtful whether the discharge of a cannon 
beside him would have interrupted the 
succulent meal. Nothing could be more 
expressive of thorough enjoyment than the 
little one's actions and position when feed- 
ing hard. It shuts its eyes, stands on 
its toes, and, oh ! doesn't its little tail 
quiver with ecstasy ! 

Another of the much despised 
bacon fraternity is shown in the 
next picture. It is a full-grown pig 
belonging to Mr. John Wraight, 
of Ash ford. He is probably the 
most domesticated pig in exist- 
ence, and to all accounts it 
seems that he enjoys his novel 

From a. Photo, bp] 

by LnGOgl< 


IHuffh Pmfi&L 




occupation thoroughly well. The strange 
conveyance shown in the photograph may 
frequently be seen, driven by its plucky little 
owner, as proud as any peer of the realm 
behind his four-in-hand in the park, 

I wonder what masters of hounds think of 
this. Here is their arch-enemy chained like 
any common dog to a private kennel. 

Mrs, G. Clarke, of Barley Hill, Chard, the 
proud owner of this strange pet, says in her 
interesting letter : — 

" Having had a pet fox some time ago, 
which unfortunately got away and was killed 
by hounds, I had a great desire for another, 
and one day last spring a farmer brought me 
a vixen cub about six weeks old. He took it 
out of the pocket of his shooling-coat just 
like a kitten* but it was some time before it 
would make friends with me. The little 
rascal snapped and growled and bit my 
fingers, so that I decided to buy a puppy to 
rear with it. This idea was a great success. 
The vixen and puppy played together in the 
greatest friendship. My pet lives in a dog- 
kennel in the orchard, and is rarely seen in 
the daytime, but as 
soon as it is dusk 
out she comes and 
runs round and 
round her kennel, 
and plays about 
and digs in the 
turf at the end of 
her chain ; she has 
made a trench 6in. 
deep, in which she 
hides when she 
hears anyone 
coming. She will 
allow no one but 
my husband and 
myself to touch 

her at all, and she can quite distinguish 
between the sound of our footsteps and those 
of others. 

"We feed her together with the dog on 
the scraps from the house, bones, bread and 
milk, and occasionally a small bird or raw 
meat. Strangely enough, she especially 
delights in the fried bacon left over from 
breakfast. She is in grand condition, fat and 
sleek, with a beautiful coat and brush, and it 
is wonderful how the ruddy colours of her 
coat harmonize with the grass and dead 
leaves, so that she can hide herself on a com- 
paratively bare piece of ground, lying quite 
flat with her pointed ears laid back, so that 
she might easily escape being seen by any- 
one although passing quite close. We do 
not often venture to let her loose, but have 
done so occasionally, when she strongly 
resents being chained up again." 

Above all animals, one would hardly 
expect to find amiableness in a kangaroo. 
Yet Mrs. Elitch, who, it may be remarked, 
owns a remarkable collection of wild and 
curious animals in Denver, Col, U.S. A,, 
has found it possible to make a pet of this 
animal. Her private zoo boasted of two 
of these quadrupeds, and everything went 
on well until one of them suddenly died. 
It is a known fact that they rarely thrive 
alone, and Mrs. Elitch feared that her 
kangaroo would grieve himself to death 
through the loss of his mate. To dis- 
tract his attention as much as possible she 

TO ITl [Jontt & Lehman, Denver, CoL 


i So 



ffnpm a FhotOr hy Jane* ct Lehman., Denver, Col. 

used to give him some dainty morsels in the 
nature of candy, etc., and talk to him for hours 
at a time. After a long time she succeeded 
in making quite a pet of the sorrow-stricken 
kangaroo, and* strange to say, the animal 
is never so happy as when he hears his 
mistress's voice, for he at once realizes 
that he will shortly be the recipient of some 
tasty tit- bit, as well as come in for a good 
share of petting. That this extraordinary 
pet has got over the loss of its male is 
well evidenced in our photograph, and it is 
undoubtedly a fine specimen of this strange 
yet interesting animal. 

Our next illustration depicts another 
peculiar pet— an ostrich. Not only is this 
bird very tame and tractable in the hands 
Of its owner, but it also deserves our 
attention as being the only pacing ostrich 
owned by a woman. Its mistress, the 
owner of the kangaroo, is seen in the 
photograph with her pet. She frequently 
uses the animal for driving about her 
grounds. It is hitched on to a very light 
fancy trotting cart fitted with pneumatic 
tyres. To be successful in driving such a 
queer steed no little amount of tact and 
patience is required. In the first placo 
one cannot use ordinary reins, for were 
they pulled too tightly they would probably 
break the animaFs neck 3 and the only way 

to guide him is to hit him with a 
long whip on the opposite side to 
that which you want him to go. 
Unfortunately, too, one blow is not 
always sufficient, and as the animal 
goes like the wind, you cannot 
depend upon this kind of il horse " 
to turn at a moment's notice. Then 
there is the possibility of bis catch- 
ing sight of a piece of orange peel, 
or something equally attractive. If 
he does he will stop in his fastest 
gait and dive sideways for it, often 
giving the driver a very unpleasant 
jerk, Mrs, Elitch has had the 
animal in her possession since it was 
quite a baby, which explains to a 
large extent its tractable nature. It 
is regarded as a fine specimen of 
the ostrich, is very powerful, and 
never seems to get tired, 

In the Berlin Zoological Gardens 
there are many instances of the 
affection that exists so frequently 
between the animal and man, or 
rather, perhaps we might say in this 
instance, between the animal and 
woman. The orang is not usually 
considered to be a creature overflowing with 
the milk of human kindness^ but even he 


From a PrtaiVt. hf fcm*r A Istbiik, 




is apt to fall under Una*s gentle influence,, 
and to suffer himself to be led by the silken 
thread, Our friend in the photograph has 
taken a great fancy to his 
companion, a pretty German 
widow, and, if the remark 
may be permitted, he is an 
animal of taste* As soon 
as the lady pays her usual 
visit to the gardens, Mr* 
Orang runs to meet her, 
tenderly embraces the fair 
visitor, and tries his best 
to overcome the difficulties 
presented by the difference 
of tongues. When with 
her he is always amiable, 
gentle, and loving, an 
example much to be com- 
mended. Visitors to the 
gardens should certainly 
pay their respects to this 
representative of an ancient 
and honourable race, and 
they will find the courteous 
Herr Direktor always 
ready to place his store of 
knowledge at their disposal 
Trooper E, J. Cullen, 
CM.B., of Colesburg, Cape Colony, has a 
pet with fangs, and poisonous fangs y too. 
He makes a speciality of snakes, and tames 
his pets by kindness. Nor does he seem to 
fare badly. Trooper Cullen's pet is a night 
adder, and it seems a terribk risk for a 

/■TVIrt ti\ 

far it has resisted the change of climate, and 
takes its warm bath three times a day with 
evident enjoyment. It is fed on small pieces 
of raw meat every two 
days. When not intimi- 
dated by the presence of 
strangers it will croak gently 
in answer to its name, The 
little creature knows its 
master quite well, and 
habitually travels snugly 
ensconced in his coat- 

The next photograph 
shows "Sam/* a pet swan, 
taking his breakfast from 
his little master's hand, 
Sam was brought up in a 
garden at the back of an 
hotel in Reading, Berks, 
where he was the pet of the 
proprietor* This gentle- 
man being a great lover 
of wild creatures had many 
of his pets running loose 
in the garden, and Sam's 
chief delight seemed to 
consist in chasing them 
around the garden should 
they dare to approach near his own par- 
ticular retreat under a tree at the edge of 
a small piece of ornamental water- He 
would also sit for hours under a fountain in 
his little lake taking shower baths, 

Living with other tame pets, Sam soon 

A l-UISONOL'S I'ET, l/'^fftoffTdpA. 

1 . 

^rom a Photo* hy\ a BABY CfcOCOUlLE- l^«* & jUKhw*. R&tkfairiA, Pitf^Ar*. 

man to thus fondle a deadly snake, be it 
even in broad daylight. 

Fancy carrying about with you a baby 
alligator, Yet Baron de Longueil brought 
this strange pet with him from Florida. So 


learnt to follow his master and mistress 
round t^e garden for a piece of cake or some 
other delicacy, which he would take quite 
gently from their hands. At every meal- 
time Sam comes round to the back door and 
Original fronn 




From a Photo, &yj 4 ^a m . " 

knocks with his bill till his youthful master 
brings him his food, Sam is also very 
particular how his food is given to him : he 
seems to consider it quite infra dig. to stoop 
to pick up anything from the ground, and 
unless his master is there to give him food 
from bis own hand, he takes his meals as 
though he were conferring a great favour. 

Mr. G, W. Mathieson, of 
Chicago, the owner of the 
curious pet that follows, 
says : ** This is probably 
the only domesticated wild 
cat in the world He has 
perfect liberty of my suite of 
offices, where he is kept as 
a pet, and he goes the round 
of my rooms very much the 
same as any other domestic 
cat. We run a little print- 
ing establishment here, and 
he lies on the imposing- 
table, drsk, and chairs, 
purrs, and rubs himself joy- 
fully against us just as any 
other common or garden 
cat would do. He took the 
first prize gold medal at the 
Chicago Cat Show, and 
won a handsome Japanese 
vase, being voted the most 
popular cat at the show ! 
There is something dis- 
tinctly humorous in a wild 
cat being voted the most 

gilized by LiOOglC 

ix>pular cat in a 
show. A wild cat 
— B-r-r ! 

Perhaps one of 
the most interest- 
ing photographs 
of our series is 
that of the genet 
which is in the 
possession of a 
Bedford lady. It 
was brought from 
Africa by her son 
w T hen two or three 
months old. It is 
now a little over 
seven months. 
When he first had 
it j it was very 
wild and seemed 
untamable, biting 
viciously with 
teeth like pins, 
that drew blood 
immediately. However, patience and a 
little chastisement now and then worked 
wonders. It is now almost as tame as a 
cat, and will allow most people to touch 
it gently, but strangers have to beware of 
its teeth. It has many of the peculiarities 
of the cat, but at the same time resembles 
in some respects the kangaroo as regards its 

[ \Y\i\*\n\. -StututhaKn. 

From a] 

A pet wili> i;a-^| from {Photograph. 




Vrvm a i'fosto* Bti 

a genet* [«/. A. Reid f B&JUqt^ 


front and hind legs, the former being far 
shorter than the latter. It stands and runs 
also in a similar manner. Another pecu- 
liarity is the different sounds it makes, quite 
unlike any cat, one being a kind of cluck, 
cluck, but difficult to imitate. The quaint 
little beast is pathetically fond of its affec- 
tionate mistress* 

Mouse deer would seem ideal pets, and 
the one shown here is by far the smallest of 
its tribe* The specimen, a photograph of 
which we give here, weighed 13U0Z. when 

caught* and belongs to Mrs* Maxwell 
Maynard, of Mysore, India. She fed it on 
milk and water, and petted it constantly, 
Mrs, Maynard says : " My strange friend is 
now perfectly tame, and is not in captivity in 
any way. It goes out in the jungle as soon 
as it gets dark, and remains out all night, 
but never fails to put in an appearance at my 
bedside for early tea in the morning, and 
usually spends most of the remainder of the 
day in the bungalow. When this photo, was 
taken the pretty little creature weighed only 
4*^ lb, and was about three-quarters grown, 
" Macacca," the beautiful little " Marikina " 

From a PAoto. bv\ 

.V unfit. Ltd 

f'- I 

monkey here reproduced, belongs to Mr, 
H* Neville Davis. She is a little lady, and 
so highly civilized has she become that she 
would not think of getting out of her bed 
in the morning without her usual cup of hot 
tea, well sweetened, after which she will 
whistle for some sponge-cake and jam, and 
should anyone substitute marmalade she will 
immediately throw it at the offender* 

Macacca thinks nothing of going through 
a dinner of six courses, with a little 
Madeira to finish up with. Her head is no 


1 84 


larger than a walnut, but she easily finds 
room for the whole of a large hothouse 
grape in her mouth at a time, carefully 
throwing away the skin and pips. This tiny 
creature has not the slightest fear of any- 
thing canine, and on several occasions 
when a small toy bull-terrier was placed on 
a table with her she simply stood up and 
gently pushed the dog away- Macacca weighs 
only i4j^oz,, and her tail is nearly three 
times the length of her body. Her coat, 
which is of the finest hair, varies in colour 
aceording to season. In the summer months 
it is a bright golden colour which might be 
envied by many a woman, the tail being 
silvery and as bushy as a squirrel's. 

Mt. Hoggan writes a most interesting letter, 
which we quote in full : — 

" While out tiger hunting last March near 
Chota Nagpur, my shikari discovered three 
tiger cubs in a cave, Their fond parent fled 
on my approach with a rifle. I sat near the 
cave all day, in a burning sun, waiting her 
return, but she failed to put in an appear- 
ance. Fearing the tigress would carry off 
her precious darlings at night— there was no 
moon to enable me to sit up — I took away 
the cubs, which were successfully reared by 
three goats, shown in the photograph. The 
unwilling foster - mothers were very much 
frightened of their strange children at first, 
but latterly got quite attached to them, 

r'rum til 


{ Photograph, 

She will often sit in the sunshine making a 
peculiar singing noise, not unlike the song of 
the thrush, and appears to be talking to the 
birds around her. This remarkable little 
animal displays a gentleness towards babies 
and little children which is extraordinary. 
Any little baby might caress and fondle her 
as though she were a doll, but let an adult 
attempt to do the same in the child's pre- 
sence, and she will swear in the most 
comical manner. 

Many of our readers will no doubt have 
seen tiger cubs in menageries and other 
places, but only a very few have had an 
opportunity of seeing anything so pathetic 
as is shown in the picture which follows. 
They are the newly acquired pets of Lieu- 
tenant S. P. Hoggan, of the Welsh Regiment, 

3 y Google 

Tiger cubs are the prettiest and nicest pets 
I have ever had. Three Jolly little chaps 
they are." 

Mis. Herbert Vivian, whose photograph 
we are privileged in reproducing, possesses 
what appears to us to be the most desirable 
pet of all It is a gazelle, and one of the 
prettiest creatures imaginable. Mrs. Vivian 
is, of course, extremely fond of her charming 
pet She calls it her ** dear gazelle," and has 
very kindly given us the following interesting 

" One of the favourite games ol my wicked 

little friend is to come behind a very 

solemn parlourmaid and suddenly tug at the 

streamers of her cap when she is most 

rigidly upon her dignity. He has much 

curiosity about new forms of food> and 
Original from 





From a Photo, by Htnry 5;MnJt, Briffhtan. 

when I am at breakfast he thinks it a great 
joke to creep up suddenly behind me and 
stuff his nose into my plate or both 
forelegs into my tea-cup. If there is a 
great upset he is vastly amused, and trots 
about the room with his head in the air, 
convinced that he has done an exceed- 
ingly clever thing. 

" Another of his diversions is to go 
under the table at mealtimes and quietly 
bite all my bootlaces in two. He will 
often leave them hanging by a thread, 
so that when I get into the street they 
will all burst simultaneously- He will 
also lick all the blacking off, so that the 
boots appear as if one had been walking 
through a river. When he is affection- 
ately disposed he puts up his nose and 
sniffs my lace with great diligence this 
is his idea of kissing ; whilst he cannot 
bear to be left alone for an instant, and 
directly I get up to leave the room he 
makes a point of trotting out after me. 

" However sleepy he may be in the 
evening he is always averse from being 
taken off to his rug in the scullery, and 
directly he is let out in the morning he 
rushes off and scratches at my bedroom 

door imploring admission. As he has 
taken so extremely welt to his life in 
Kngland, and is adored by everyone who 
sees him, I can only wonder how it is 
that people in this country do not more 
often import gazelles as pets. No doubt 
they require a great deal of patience, 
but their inexhaustible charms afford 
an ample return for the expenditure 

Here is yet a third specimen of the 
bacon fraternity. This extraordinary 
animal belonged to the Misses Wilder, 
of Braemar, Tun bridge Wells* Miss 
L, Wilder has been kind enough to 
supply us with particulars of this affec- 
tionate creature, and her letter makes 
interesting reading. We are sorry that 
owing to piggy's death this interesting 
record has to be moulded now in the 
past tense : " ' Bijou ' was given to us 
three years ago when only seven days 
old ; she was brought up by hand, and 
lived for the first twelve months in the 
house ; she would follow us about, up 
and down stairs, came for long walks, 
and often enjoyed a drive, when she 
would sit on my lap. No one looked 
after Bijou but myself ] she was very 
clean and most intelligent, and under- 
stood almost everything; her coat was 
very long and curly, and of a gold-yellow 
colour, with black about the legs ; she 

Fnm n\ 


\ rhiAQffinph. 


1 86 



From a Photo, hy gtarM P, Wtlt* t J^aHiwr, B.€. 

was groomed daily, and when young was 
also washed every day, her food consisting 
of bread and milk, or cake and sweets. 
The last few months she was given a little 
meal and water, but she was quite thin, 
ftijou went in harness also, and often would 
draw my second brother about the lanes. 
Poor Bijou died this autumn. She was 
three and a half 
years old." 

The next pet 
under consideration 
is a wild mountain 
goat. At least it 
was wild once, but 
is fairly tame now, 
as can be seen from 
its extraordinary 
position — archly 
perched on the 
back of its owner, 
Mr, J. Lalloutagne, 
of Golden, B.C 
This affectionate 
Billy was captured 
when a few days 
old, and brought 
up with the assist- 
ance or a bottle, 
and k now about 
six months old. It 
is so clever that it 
might almost be- 
come a circus goat, 
for we understand 
that its accomplish- ' #***«] 

ments are nothing short of marvellous, so 
much so, in fact, that its owner has over 
and over again refused an offer of loodols. 
G£ 2 °) f° r tiiis remarkable little rascal. 

Last, but not least, comes a pretty 
picture of a little girl driving her pet 
bear cubs across the snows of Arctic 
Russia. We arc indebted to Mr. A, 
Montifiore Brice for the photo, of this 
unique team, These pretty pets are 
brown Russian bears, which had been 
caught young and trained in the manner 
shown. By using arguments of many 
kinds the owner trains them to pull a small 
sledge, and he frequently drove in it over 
the great mantle of unbroken snow which 
for six months and more covers the land 
in those parts. So tame, indeed, did the 
bears become that he was at last able to 
allow a little friend, the daughter of a 
Russian lady, to drive them about the 
country, and even across the great River 
Pwina, which flows into the tempestuous and 
icy White Sea in the summer, and in the 
winter forms a temporary high road and a 
bridge between one half of the country and 
the other It is a pretty picture, and one 
of the most original illustrations of what 
may be done with peculiar pets* if sufficient 
patience and good will are called into play. 



by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 



THE Angel of Death hovers over 
the dis the House of Commons. You 
solution, can almost hear the rustling of its 
wings. Of course, there is no 
statutory reason why the present Parliament 
should be dissolved this year. As far as 
precedent goes, it might, without reproach, 
continue its existence through next Session, 
the General Election taking place at some 
convenient time after harvest The Parlia- 
ment which, for the first time, saw Disraeli 
in power as well as in office, meeting on the 
21st of February, 1874, ran through six years 
and sixty-seven days. Only twice in the 
Queen's long reign has that record been 
beaten. In both cases it was — rare coinci- 
dence—exceeded by the same number of 
days. The Parliament the Queen found at 
work when she came to the Throne placed 
Lord Melbourne in power in the year 1835. 
It sat for six years and 141 days, an accom- 
plishment precisely paralleled by the last 
Parliament over which Lord Palmerston 

The Parliament of 1880-5, the thin-spun 
thread of its life nipped by what Mr. Cham- 
berlain, before he reached a period of grace, 
called "The Stop-Gap Government," did not 
survive for quite six years. The Unionist 
Parliament of 1886 exceeded that term by 
fifteen days. On the 1st of July next year 
the full term of six years' office will have 
been enjoyed by the present Ministry. If a 
General Election does not take place till 
September or October of next year, Lord 
Salisbury and his colleagues cannot be 
reproached for unduly lingering on the stage. 
But will they play the game 
so low? The shade of Lord 
Beaconsfield seems to forbid it. 
There is little doubt that had he 
dissolved Parliament immediately after his 
return from Berlin arm-in-arm with Lord 
Salisbury, bringing Peace with Honour, he 
would have obtained a triumphantly renewed 
lease of power. He hesitated, and was lost. 
Lulled into false security by the blustering 
popularity of the hour, the Beaconsfield 
Ministry held on, to face the fearful rout that 
befell them in the spring of 1880. 

History is, to a marked extent, repeating 
itself in the cases of Lord Salisbury's Govern- 
ment in the year 1900 and Lord Beacons- 




field's in the year 1878. Early in the present 
Session, I^rd Salisbury in one House and 
Mr. Arthur Balfour in the other will be 
able to announce a peace not only with 
honour, but with substantial profit. The 
hour will seem to have struck when appeal 
should be made to the nation for a vote of 
confidence. Apart from the glamour of 
success of British arms in South Africa, 
Ministers have no reason to believe that this 
time next year, or eighteen months hence, 
they will be in a stronger position than they 
will find themselves in the early spring. The 
odds are in favour of their being much worse 
off. To begin with, two more Sessions will 
appreciably increase the natural impatience, 
not to say the loathing, with which after the 
first year of office the British elector regards 
the Ministry of the day. Beyond this is the 
ordinary risk of unforeseen disaster or un- 
premeditated blunder. 

To dissolve Parliament next month means 
the sacrifice, unnecessary as far as law and 
custom go, of fully eighteen months' tenure of 
office. To some cautious Ministers it may 
seem that, after all, a year in the hand, with 
salaries paid quarterly, power, patronage, and 
the patriotic duty performed of keeping out the 
wicked Liberals, is worth more than six years 
in the bush. That is exactly the sentiment 
that fatally prevailed in Lord Beaconsfield's 
Cabinet after the return from Berlin in 1878. 

There is a special reason 

piling up likely to weigh with Ministers 

debt, in deciding on the problem of 

the date of Dissolution. Sir 
Michael Hicks - Beach is not lacking in 
courage. But he may well shrink from the 
duty of facing preparation of the Budget for 
the financial year that closes on the 31st of 
March. None better than he knows what a 
millstone the finance of the last four years has 
fashioned for hapless Chancellors of the 
Exchequer in the opening years of the new 
century. What with the relief of the clergy, 
subvention of Church schools, and large 
transference to the Imperial Exchequer of 
rates hitherto chiefly borne by the landlords, 
the national expenditure has permanently 
increased by many millions. Added to these 
drafts on the pocket of the taxpayer are the 
enormous additions made during the last few 
years to the expenses of the Army and Navy. 

by Google 

'-1 1 1 I tl I I I '-' I II 





These influences were at work before war 
broke out in the Transvaal. Already a little 
bill of ten millions has been accepted on that 
particular account, seven-tenths of it raised 
by the alluring device of borrowing on Trea- 
sury bills. But, on obtaining the sanction of 
the House of Commons for this transaction, 
Sir Michael Hicks- Beach was, above all 
things, insistent that this addition to the 
floating debt should be regarded as tem- 
porary. "I hope," he said, "no one will 
suggest that this is a case in which war 
expenditure should lie provided for by a 
permanent addition to the debt of the 
country." This bill of ten millions, plea- 
santly rotund, is but a fraction of what the 
campaign in South Africa will cost, If 
it turn out to be only one-half, there w 
be ground for congratulation. 
The prudent taxpayer wilL be 
disposed to contemplate its 
being trebled Of course, there 
will be a war indemnity from 
the Transvaal As the Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer put it 
in the speech already quoted 
from, " Under a pure and 
honest Government it will be 
perfectly possible for the Trans- 
vaal, not only to bear the 
ordinary expenses of govern- 
ment, but to provide a reason- 
able sum towards the expenses 
of the war, consistently with a 
reduction in the taxation of 
the goldfields." 

Supposing this forecast is fully realized we 
might count the British share of contribution 
to the war cheque at the ten millions already 
voted, but not met out of taxation. The 
Chancellor of the Exchequer is pledged to 
make such provision in the Budget to be 
introduced two months hence. 

For the Income-tax paver there 

A SHILLING . "- .1 

was an ominous note m the 
i i v speech. Sir Michael plainly de- 
clared that the existence of an 
eightpenny Income tax would not deter him 
from increasing the impost. M However high 
the Income-tax may stand," he said, "it 
will be the duty of the Income-tax payer 
to take his full share in providing for such 
additional expenditure in common with the 
other taxpayers in the country.* 1 That plainly 
means anything from an additional twopence 
to a supplementary fourpenee in the pound, 

A shilling Income-tax, in addition to in- 
numerable rates and the pressure of indirect 
taxation, is nothing when you are used to 
it When the Crimean War broke out the 
Income-tax was simply doubled, being 
raised at a stroke from sevenpence to one 
shilling and twopence. In 1 855 it was further 
raised to one shilling and fourpenee, and so 
remained for a couple of years. In Pitt's 
time Income-tax for a long time stood at 
two shillings in the pound. All the same, 
if the most unpopular of taxes, pressing 
directly on a wide range of electors, must 
needs be increased at a time when a General 
Election is imminent, Ministers, being only 
human, will naturally prefer that the General 
Election shall 
take place first. 
If they are re- 
instated in power 
they are safe for 

by Google 


Original from 






another five or six years, and need fear no 
man. If they are beaten, and the Opposition 
come in, they have the double satisfaction 
of having a heavy burden removed from 
their shoulders, and of 
seeing the triumphant 
adversary, on the very 
threshold of his 
career, hampered by a 
load of debt, and made 
unpopular by the neces- 
sity of increasing taxa- 
tion in order to meet 
applications he, when in 
Opposition, strenuously 
fought against. 

For this and other 
reasons indicated it is 
at least on the cards that 
the month of March will 
see a Dissolution sprung 
on the constituencies. 

The first Session of what some 
people venture to regard as the 
new century does not differ from 
its predecessors in the matter of 
the Queen's Speech and debate on the 
Address. It will not be forgotten how 
narrow was the risk of deprivation of this 
privilege run by an indifferent Empire, 
When, last October, Parliament met for the 
War Session it was with avowed intention of 
making it the starting-point of the business 
Session of this year The brief Queen's 
Speech then read was lo serve all purposes. 
There would be no second edition when 
Parliament re-assembled in the new year. 
Consequently there would be no debate in 
reply to the gracious communication. 

That is a course of procedure for which 
there are those precedents dear to the heart 
of the Constitutional member. Quotation of 
one will suffice to show how the thing works. 
On the 5th of December, 1878, Parliament 
was summoned to vote the money needed in 
connection with the war in Afghanistan, 
The Queen's Speech, as happened in the 
War Session of last autumn, dealt exclusively 
with the one matter in hand. On the 17th 
of December the sittings were adjourned till 
the 13th of February, 1879. There being 
no Queen's Speech, Lord Beaconsfield in 
one House and Sir Stafford Northcote in 
the other indicated, as the Premier put 
it, "the measures which, under ordinary 
circumstances, would have been recom- 
mended to your notice in the Speech from 
the Throne at the opening of the present 


by Google 

Sentiment apart, and regard- 
in Days of ing Parliament as a business 
yore. assembly, that seems a com- 
mendable procedure. It con- 
trasts with a perform- 
ance well enough at the - 
time it was devised, but 
something of an ana- 
chronism in the altered 
conditions of the day. 
Time was, within the 
present reign, when it 
was the regular custom 
of the Sovereign to open 
Parliament in person. 
The ceremonial being 
carried out with the 
pomp and circumstance 
pertaining to Royalty, it 
was proper that Parlia- 
ment should make 
attempt to live up to it, 
at least for the day, Therefore, we had in 
both Houses members, arrayed in military or 
naval costume, echoing through a painfully 
prepared oration the often bald phrases of 
the most gracious Speech, 

That is called moving the Address, In 
either House the Leader of the Opposition 
folio wed j protesting in solemn voice that 
never since the days of Demosthenes had 
there been a speech equal in point and 
polish to those just delivered by the flustered 
gentlemen in unaccustomed uniforms, pain- 
fully conscious of a sword with a tendency to 
get between their legs if they indulged in 
freedom of action. The Leader of the 
House folio wed, gravely capping the com- 
pliment If the Opposition meant busi- 
ness the Leader would conclude with an 
amendment to the Address, equivalent to a 
vote of censure on the Government At such 
crises debate might go on for two or even 
three nights. If the Opposition did not feel 
themselves strong enough to challenge the 
existence of the Ministry the Address was 
usually voted before dinner, the business of 
the Session commencing at the next sitting. 
The Irish members changed 
to-day, all that When, in 1875, they, 
under the impulse of Mr. Parnell, 
began to feel their feet, they discovered 
the rich and rare opportunities for obstruc- 
tion provided by the antique ceremonial of 
moving the Address, From the opening of 
the Session of 1876 began a iTew era, which 
has since prevailed, with the result that in 
these times Ministers think themselves for- 
tunate if not more than the first ten days of 
Original from 


I go 


the freshest period of the Session are appro- 
priated for the delivery of miscellaneous 
speeches, styled, with grim humour, u debate 
on the Address," 

It was prospect of this opportunity being 
shut off at the commencement of the new 
Session that led to the storm before which 
Mr, Arthur Balfour shrank abashed. To men 
properly jealous of the privileges of the Mother 
of Parliaments there was 
something shocking in 
the prospect of cutting 
off Mr. Dillon, Mr. Cald- 
well, Dr. Clark, Mr, W, 
Redmond, Sir E. Ash- 
mead -Bar tlett, and eke 
Mr. Weir from oppor- 
tunity of discoursing at 
length under favour of 
an amendment to the 
Address, To tell ihe 
truth, the privilege safe- 
guarded, the House does 
not show itself tumult- 
ously anxious to benefit 
by its exercise. The 
statesmen men tioned 
have grown too familiar 
with the spectacle of 
members rising with one 
accord and hurriedly 
quitting the House 
when they take the floor. Nevertheless, the 
ancient custom, flourish ing^ as we have seen, 
under wholly different circumstances, must 
not be touched by sacrilegious hands. 

Still, something may be whis- 
pered in favour of the course 
following on the Autumn Sessions 
of 1867 and 187S, If it were, 
as was wont, the custom of the Sovereign to 
open Parliament in person, reading the 
Speech from the Throne, the accessories of 
the pageant would be well enough. But no 
one can aver that there is anything dignified 
or useful in the spectacle of half-a-dozen 
elderly gentlemen, styled Lords Com mis- 
sinners, masquerading in scarlet ermine- 
trimmed gowns, with cocked hats, sitting all 
in a row on a bench. Nor are the speeches 
of the uniformed mover and seconder of the 
Address anything but sheer waste of time, 
A detailed statement and elucidation of the 
business programme of the Session, given by 
the responsible Minister, confronting either 
House is preferable to the document which 
sets forth the Queen's Speech, not always in 
the Queen's English. The statement made, 
and commented upon from various points of 


view, the House might, as it did in February, 
1879, forthwith get about its appointed work, 
the development of which through succeed- 
ing stages of Bills supplies abundant oppor- 
tunity for saying all that is really useful to 
say on the public questions of the day. 

On the eve of the opening of the 
' : , i Session good Conservatives are, 
■ with quickened interest, asking 
each other whether, as 
heretofore, they shall in 
party strife receive the 
valuable assistance of 
their friend the enemy. 
As far as numbers count, 
Liberals in the House 
of Commons are in a 
hopeless minority. Hut 
because a minority is 
numerically insignificant 
it by no means follows 
that it shall be politically 
impotent, Proof of this 
assertion is found in the 
case of Mr. Parnell, who 
through successive Ses- 
sions, with a following of 
between sixty and eighty, 
practical 1 y dominated 
the House of Commons. 





by Google 

Another even more strik- 
ing case is furnished by 
the Fourth Party, Four strong, counting the 
desultory mustering of Mr. Arthur Balfour, 
they were mainly instrumental in transforming 
into a minority Mr, Gladstones magnificent 
majority won at the polls in 1880. But these 
two factions, great and small, always pulled 
together, sinking individual prejudices, 
animosities, and opinions in the common 

With Liberals in ihe House of 
historic Commons, whether in power or 
cabals, opposition ? similar instinct and 

habit do not prevail It was sadly 
rather than bitterly said by a great Liberal 
Leader: "When the constituencies have 
gone the right way, returning the Liberals to 
power by a commanding majority* the very 
first thing members composing it set their 
hands to do is to break it up. 71 

That is a hard saying, but modern history 
supplies abundant proof of its accuracy. It 
was the dwellers in the Cave of Adullam, 
dug on the Liberal side of the House, that 
wrecked the Reform Hill of 1K66. It was the 
Tea Room Cabal against the lHiblin Univer- 
sity Bill, led by Mr. Miall, that brought about 
Mr. Gladstone's defeat and resignation in 

Original from 




March, 1873. It was desertion and active 
hostility on the Bradlaugh question that in 
the first Session of the 1880 Parliament gave 
a powerful Ministry a shock from which it 
never recovered- It was the great secession 
of Liberals on the Home Rule question that 
hurled Mn Gladstone from power in 1886, 
and drove the party into the wilderness 
where it still forlornly strays. It was the 
Welsh Radical members who made impossible 
the Government of Lord Rosebery. It was 
enemies within the gate who, according to 
the testimony of Sir William Har court, 
elbowed him out of the leadership of the 
party when in opposition. 

Doubtless bearing these matters 

the case in mind, Sir Henry Campbell- 

of c*-a Ban ner man, receiving at the 

Reform Club meeting a unani- 
mous call to the Leadership, in succession 


its nomination was moved from the Treasury 
Bench, Objection to its constitution was 
taken by some members of the Opposition 
Benches, and in two divisions the Leader 
found himself opposed in the Division Lobby 
by a section of his following. On the 19th 
of June Mr. Balfour made the customary 
motion appropriating for the remainder of 
the Session Tuesdays and Wednesdays for 
Government business. Sir H. Campbell- 
Banner man, speaking in his official capacity, 
unreservedly admitted the reasonableness of 
the demand. It being opposed from below the 
gangway to the point of a division, the Leader 
of the Opposition, amid ironical cheers from 
the delighted Ministerialists, walked out of the 
House, a number of his nominal supporters 
going into the " No w lobby. On the 3rd of 
July conversation arose on a resolution 
affecting the settlement of the Niger territory, 
A Blue-book fully re- 
cording the history of 
the case was at the 
printers, and issue was 
promised in a few days, 
Mr* Balfour made the 
not unreasonable sug- 
gestion that it would be 
better to postpone dis- 
cussion till the Blue- 
book was circulated, 
when members would 
be in full possession ol 

to Sir William Harcourt, timidly expressed a 
hope that, at least upon points of procedure 
not involving great issues, the party would 
submit to their leader's judgment. Of course 
it was not contemplated that on issues affect- 
ing great principles a man's conscience should 
be suborned in the interests of party solidarity. 
Sir Henry is not Naaman that he should 
plead for indulgence if from motives of policy 
he were constrained to bow himself in the 
House of Rimmon. He simply meant that 
for the sake of the party itself he should not 
be habitually subjected^ as Sir William 
Harcourt was, and as was not unknown in 
the experience of Mr. Gladstone, to having 
his advice on immaterial matters flouted and 
his authority lowered in the eyes of the 
House and the world. 

How this appeal prospered the records of 
the first Session of last year testify- To 
quote three instances that recur to the mind : 
On the 1 st of May, the Old Age Pension 
Committee having been selected in the 
ordinary manner by consultation and agree- 
ment between the Whips of the two parties, 

Digitized by G< 

the facts. The Leader 
of the Opposition, a plain business man, 
having secured a pledge that the paper? 
should be immediately forthcomings assented 
Whereupon his followers below the gangway 
moved to report progress, insisted upon 
taking a division, and drove their leader into 
the Government lobby* 

It will be seen from considera- 
HOWLONGlof these modern instances that 
how long ! there was at stake no question 
of principle or conscience. The 
mutiny in face of the enemy was due 
to pure cussedncss. To some minds it 
will appear that the trifling nature of 
the quarrel adds to the seriousness of 
the situation. For petty, wilful insub- 
ordination no excuse can be found in the 
conduct of the Captain, Bubbling with 
good humour, always urbane, Sir Henry 
Campbell- Bannerman has upon meet occa- 
sion shown that these qualities are not in- 
compatible with fighting force. In varying 
circumstances he has displayed a born genius 
for filling a thankless post. He has known 
when to speak and, more priceless gift, has 
Original from 


I 1)2 





known when to be silent. In accepting the 
arduous, thankless task of leading a Liberal 
minority in the House of Commons he, 
animated by a sense of duty and loyally, 
made infinite sacrifice of personal ease and 
comfort. It is a poor reward to find himself 
publicly flouted by a section of 
his nominal followers, however 
insignificant in numbers or incon- 
siderable in personal position. 

This is a watchword 
that still lives in poli- 
tical commentary, 
though it is not so 
frequently dragged in as it used 
to be. I wonder how many men 
of the present generation know its 
history ? I confess 1 did not till 
I learned it sitting at the feet of 
that vivacious chronicler, Sir 
Algernon West, 

Sir Algernon, at that time fresh 
home from a visit to the Crimea, 
remembers sitting under the 
gallery of the House of Commons 
when Sir de Lacy Evans ex- 
pounded the riddle to puzzled 
members. Upon the death of 
Ix>rd Raglan, General Simpson, 

second in command, received from Lord 
Pan mure, then War Minister, the following 
message : " You are appointed Commander- 
in-Chief in the Crimea, Take care of 
Ltowb.* Sir de Lacy Evans, who was with 
the General when the telegram arrived, gave 
a racy description of the scene* The staff 
called in to assist in solving the mystery were 
utterly at sea. Officers of the Engineers were 
summoned with unavailing inquiry as to what 
part of the trenches Dowb might be serving 
his country in. 

At length there flashed upon one of the 
staff recollection that Lord Panmure had at 
the seat of war a cousin named Dowbeggim 
At this great crisis in the campaign, the 
Commander-in-Chief dead, a new man selected 
to succeed him, the cousinly heart of the 
Minister of \\ ar was touched by the oppor- 
tunity of serving his kinsman. Over land 
and sea he cabled, at his country's expense: 
11 Take care of Dowbeggin." The economical 
operator cut the name short after the fourth 
letter. Thus it came to pass that the nation 
was enriched with the canny aphorism, u Take 
care of Dowb. 51 

Lord Panmure must have been a peculiarly 
stupid man even for the governing class 
that came to the front at the epoch of the 
Crimean War. The late Lord Malm es bury 
had a delightful story about him, current on 
the authority of that charming 
lady, Mrs. Norton. When the 
pathetic remnant of veterans 
came home from the Crimea on 
the conclusion of peace the 
Queen reviewed them* After the 
ceremony Mrs. Norton asked 
Lord Panmure: '-Was the 
Queen touched ? " " Bless my 
soul, no ! n said the Secretary of 
State for War, horrified at sugges- 
tion of such indiscretion, "She 
had a brass railing before her, 
and no one could touch her," 
" I mean/ 1 said Mrs. Norton, 
hurriedly, " was she moved ? '* 
" Moved ! " cried Lord Panmure, 
beginning to think much gadding 
about had made Mrs. Norton 
mad. * 4 She had no occasion to 

Here the conversation termi- 


by Google 

Original from 




*• DAUGHTtf^j Ffy\NCLu* 

Bv Basil Marnan, 


HEN Lucette was seven years 
old her father, Captain Heriault, 
received orders to hold him- 
self in readings to depart with 
his company for frontier ser- 
vice in Algeria. 
Captain Heriault, when the decision was 
finally arrived at, felt more secret misgivings 
than he cared to show. For Lucie, his wife, 
had scoffed at the idea of remaining at home. 
Was she not a soldier's daughter, born her- 
self to the blast of bugles, in the travail of a 
nation's agony, that dread year when the 
Prussian heel ground the soul and soil of 
France? From the first moment she had 
made up her mind to go with him, and who 
shall gainsay the will of a loving woman ? 
Once that point was decided, it never even 
occurred to either of them to leave Lucette 
behind With the memory of their little 
one dragging them ever homewards life 
would have been intolerable. The mignon 
face, framed in its black, silken, curly locks ; 
the scarlet, merry rippling of the demure 
lips ; the loving depths of the grave eyes that, 
solemn or smiling, shone as the golden stars 
shine as in a deep black well ; the dainty, 
graceful child-form --all that and each detail 
of it to be haunting them reproachfully across 
a thousand miles of sea ! Impossible ! And 
so they went, braving the rough journey, the 
rougher fare, the long, scorching stretches of 
sand that blistered eyes and lips, and made 

even the tough camels look dirtier and more 
dismal. But even the journey had some 
compensations, and all her life Lucie re- 
membered the de^p peace and joy of the 
breathless halts at moonlight beneath sweet- 
smelling clusters of palms, where the wind 
crooned like a softly- touched lute in the cool 
wiry grass and drooping fronds. There was 
the breath, too, of a heavenly vigour in the 
rosy dawns, with the sky like a great coral 
fan flashing dew and wind in the red rising 
cheeks of old Sol. 

Even when they arrived at last at El Beida 
and took up their quarters the actuality was 
not so bad as it might have been painted by 
anyone inclined to indulge in grumbling. 
Certainly the first two nights were somewhat 
terrible, passed as they were in the small, 
stinking village, with its mud walls and square 
mud houses, hot with the baking sultriness 
of pestilential air. In fact, it was due to the 
vileness and danger of the odours of this 
Arab village that Captain Heriault moved his 
troops under canvas with a promptitude 
hastened by considerations of the dangers to 
his wife and child. 

It was surprising how soon the little 
company ran entrenchments round their 
cluster of tents, and looking over the mud 
wall across the gaping ditch Lucie felt a 
certain sense of relief. For after all the 
thought of a night attack in unprotected 
tents is not very conducive to sleep. 

As it wasynfllrfr'^recaution proved well 



timed, for the very day of its completion 
saw the horizon blotched with little black 
specks that, like spiders floating on a one- 
hair web, bobbed up and down the grey, 
quivering sky. Armand Heriault seemed 
rather disturbed when the news reached him. 
His consigne was to wait at El Beida till the 
column moved up, and in the meantime to 
reconnoitre a hundred or so miles south and 
east of the Dulad Nayl Mountains, collect 
provisions, and learn the movements of that 
unruly horde of Bedouins the expedition 
had it in mind to tame. It did not 
surprise him that these hawk-eyed, vulture- 
nosed children of Mahomet should know 
of his presence. But it was quite out 
of his calculations to reckon with any 
such large force as that growing, dancing 
blotch on the horizon seemed to indicate. 
It was with a thrill of glorious fear that Lucie, 
holding her daughter by the hand, watched 
her husband with some sixty of his men 
sweep out about noon towards the approach- 
ing natives. Yet when the sunlight suddenly 
rippled like the crest of a broken wave on 
the swift slant of the hostile lances as the 
Arabs dashed forward to the charge, the 
woman felt half ashamed of the pallor that 
smote her cheeks. For Lucette, her hands 
clenched, her little toes trembling with 
excitement as she craned over the rampart, 
her face and eyes flushed with the spirit of 
battle, was shrieking shrill " Vivas " in whose 
wild, exultant assurance of faith no tremor of 
fear ran. And when the clash came, and for a 
moment the blue* tunics were enveloped in a 
cloud of white, only to emerge again in two 
minutes, scattering right and left the broken 
line of the enemy, it was Lucette who, 
defying all commands, scrambled over and 
through the ditch, and raced to meet the 
flashing sabres and galloping steeds of her 

Armand Heriault hardly drew rein as his 
eyes met the child-gaze blazing into his, but, 
bending low, he swung her as he passed on 
to his saddle-bow, leading her thus to camp 
to the ringing cheers of his men. 

" A wandering band, my little one ; nothing 
more ! " he said, later, in answer to his 
wife's anxious inquiries. il Scouting they are, 
perhaps, and probably many leagues from 
their main body. We shall have no trouble 
with them now, and in a week the column 
will be here." 

Yet when the next day came and the 
sentinels looked out through the sinuous, 
parting curtains of the morning mist, a sight 
met their astonished gaze that later brought 

their captain running from his tent and 
blanched the blood on a cheek that till 
then had never known fear. For there, 
around them, not a half a mile distant, in 
unbroken circle, lay a host of Bedouin 
warriors, their white tents and piled arms 
gleaming greyly in the misty light. For 
long he stood there counting the tents, 
reckoning gloomily the numbers of his own 
little troop, and cursing softly the assassins 
who made their war plans, with brains 
fuddled by incapacity and politics, in the 
cafes and theatres of Paris. 

When he turned at last it was to meet 
the eyes of Lucette, who, in night - gown 
and slippers, had followed him unobserved. 

" It is splendid ! " she said, clapping her 
hands. "You will kill them all, is it not, 
my father, and be made a general ? And 
when the President sees you at the review 
you will point to me and say, * My little girl 
was there and saw it all and cheered, and 
handed the flag to Sergeant Aubin with her 
own hands.' " 

Armand looked on her for a moment with 
a vague wonder in his eyes. Then he caught 
her suddenly to his breast, straining her to 
him till she cried out. And Lucette for the 
rest of the day wondered very much indeed 
what it was that made a round hot drop of 
rain fall from the blue sky on to her face as 
her father put her down. 


Five days had gone by — five days of war and 
savage defence and sortie, and vigil more 
wearing than a hundred battles. Each day 
the captain's field-glasses had swept a dozen 
times an hour to the east. But he only saw 
there the rolling brassy glare of wave on 
wave of sand — never the glint of gun-metal, 
the moving cloud of plumes and gleams and 
golden dust with bands of dusky blue 

It was the day of their last rations. To- 
morrow they would have not one crust of 
bread, not one thimbleful of meal. The 
stores he had collected in the fourteen days 
he had been there were all piled in the Arab 
village three-quarters of a mile away. In 
vain had he led twenty desperate sallies in 
the attempt to gain or snatch at those bags 
of grain and meal, directing his four machine- 
guns to cover the attempt. 

The Arabs had laughed at his hail of bullets, 
and time by time his men had grown fewer, 
till for the last three days he had not dared 
venture another sortie. They had been 
braves, these fello-vsfrofn his, fighting like 




demons, with tight belts round empty 
stomachs, and faces grey with powder and 
rigid with the passion of despair. But they 
had grown wofully thin, and as he glanced 
at the muster this fifth day, he turned his 
head aside quickly. Thirty, perhaps, in all ! 
And out of a hundred and twenty ! And 
out of the thirty, hardly one that had not 
some bloody bandage round head or arm. 
There was only one face on all that parade 
that was not grimly set as their captain, 
pushing his horse forward, began to speaL 
.And as he spoke, even into that 
child face there grew a look of 
puzzled gravity, of disappointed 


It was an impressive scene in the early 
morning light. Thirty rigid figures, grimy 
with the stain of war, sitting at attention on 
horses that stood as if carved in bronze, their 
faces gazing, expressionless, at the square of 
white tranquil tents, at the door of one of 
which stood Lucie and her daughter. At 
their backs the trenches, battered, in places 
half broken. Here and there the guns 
mounted, pointed, ready at an instant's 
warning. Around therpj silent as a host of 

Digitized by Lt< 

phantoms, five or six thousand reckless Arabs 
waiting for their doom ; and beyond, the 
sullen coppery glare of mile after mile of 
sand pricked to a thousand sparks of light 
as the sun's rays smote laterally along 
its rolling distances. And between them 
and the tents the solitary figure of their 
captain, grey and haggard of face, spare of 
form, but with a dull fire burning still in his 
deep blue eyes. 

"My friends," said their captain, shortly, 
" we have no more rations. To stay here is 
to die* I am going to take 
you through the enemy. If 
any escape, let him seek the 
column and tell the General 
how we did our duty. If I 
fall, I commend to each the 
care of my wife and child. " 
Ten minutes later the 
gates were thrown 
back and the troop 
rode forth, Lucie and 
Lucette in their midst. 
Their plan of action 
was simply to deceive 
the enemy into the 
belief that they medi- 
tated their usual sortie, 
and when the Bedouins 
diverged towards the 
village to wheel to the 
north and make a 
dash through the 
thinned lines* Hardly 
had they dashed out 
than a horde of 
warriors poured from 
the lines to the right 
and left, one half 
di recti ng the m sel ves 
on the village, the 
remainder as usual on 
the camp, with the 
intent to cut off the 
re-en try. When they 
had covered half a 
mile the northern line 
of investment had melted away- Heriault, 
seizing the moment, wheeled his troop and 
dashed forward. The success of the manoeuvre 
was indisputable. By the time they had 
reached the tents they had half a mile start 
of the enemy, with only a handful of sur- 
prised Arabs in their path. On these 
Armand charged, his long sword sweeping 
right and left, and behind him thundered the 
troop. But even as they passed, a chance 
spear from a falling; native caught Heriault full 




in the chest, hurling him from his horse, In 
a moment the only ensign left reined in his 
horse and vaulted to the ground. Quick as 
he was, however s he was not quicker than 
Lucie and her daughter, nor was he so lucky. 
For even as he reached the ground a dying 
Bedouin grasping at the colours he held ran 
him through the heart with a final thrust of 
his long, broken spear, The ensign, beating 
the air wildly, fell headlong on his foe, his 
head buried in the folds of the flag. 

It was at that moment that Lucette saw 
him. Her mother was already kneeling by 
Armand's side. Around them were only the 
dead and dying, and thundering towards them 
the pursuing Bedouins. Into the fierce little 
soul of Lucette a great rage sprang. She 
leapt to the ensign's side and tore the flag 
from his stiffening fingers, Then waving it 
aloft her tones rang out in a shrill treble : — 

u A mot! A moi ! Pour la pa trie et nam 

Already the flying line of her countrymen 
had slackened and halted. At the cry they 
wheeled and came thundering back, their 
bodies bent tow in the saddles, their faces lit 




with the grim smile of men who know they 
are going to their death. And half-way to 
the childish form standing under their flag 
they met it. The Bedouins, sweeping in on 
them, at a hoarse yell from their leader 
parted into two waves, and enveloped the 
little troop, bearing it onwards, broken, 
scattered, defiant, and fighting to the last. 

Their deed of butchery done, they swept 
back again, Lucie was still kneeling over 
her husband's body, as if to protect it with 
her own. Lucette had moved now to his 
head, and, with hands defiantly upbearing 
the colours, with face blanched and rigid, 
but with eyes bright and fearless still, stood 
waiting what might come. As the white- 
gowned horde galloped up a cluster of lances 
were directed against the two. 

But again the same hoarse voice arose : — 
i4 Hurt them not ! To my tent with both 
man and woman ! " and as the aged Sheik 
Tode past he cast a keen look on the two 
that somehow brought almost a smile to 
Lucette p s tightly clenched lips- Then the 
wave of men parted and passed them, a 
shower of golden dust blinded their eyes, and 
next moment they were 
lifted on to horses, and 
were moving quietly by 
the side of the wounded 
man towards the Bedouin 

Some two hours later 
Lucette and her mother, 
the latter with her wrists 
crossed and bound, stood 
facing the man w T ho had 
bidden their lives to be 

The Sheik, Ali Moussa, 
was a fine-looking man of 
some fifty years of age, 
though his silvery beard 
and hair made him look 
older. His snowy turban 
and long, flowing robe 
lent him a peaceful ap- 
pearance not at all in 
accordance with the war- 
like glitter in his eyes as 
he had led the charge 
that morning- Yet as his 
black eyes roamed over 
Lucie she felt herself 
growing hot Uncomfort- 
able memories of tales 
floated into her mind — 

talcs of European women 
ungm3M TTorn r 




immured in Arab harems safely locked in 
the heart of the vast desert. Some such 
thought was probably running in the Sheik's 
mind too, and his brow wrinkled as he 
glanced at the child, 

Suddenly a thought came into the mother's 
mind, a thought that made the blood creep 
in a dull flush to her face. She cast a glance 


at the Sheik and another of swift appre- 
hension around, The guards who had 
brought her in were at the doorway. The 
Sheik himself was sitting on a mat, one 
hand resting on his sword, the other holding 
a cake of meal smeared jwith fat and salt, 
from which he every now and then broke a 
morsel and slowly ate it. An earthen jug 
of water was on the ground at his hand, and 
at his elbow a young guard stood, rigid and 

Lucie's eyes gleamed, and she hid the fire 
she felt smarting them with her long lashes. 
Yet through that cunning veii she saw, as 
women can, that the Sheik's eyes were 
downcast and that he appeared deep in 

M Lucette," she breathed. 

The child's eyes flashed on her a mute 

" If that man," she whispered— and her 
voice was like the rustle of a breeze on soft 
leaves — <l gives me some of his cake, we 
shall save father's life. 1 ' 

Lucette's head barely nodded, but her eyes 
suddenly became glued on the cake. 

" I am going to ask him/ 1 murmured on 
the mother. 14 If he refuses, snatch it from 
htm, take a bite yourself, and lift it up to 
mc for one. You must be very quicL You 
are not afraid ? " 

The child's eyes gleamed up one dancing 
glance on her mother She stole a step 
nearer the Sheik, keeping her gaze fixed on 
the guard at his elbow, 
" What say you to 
the child?" demanded 
the Sheik, suddenly 
lifting his head and 
fixing his black, peer- 
ing eyes on Lucie. 
He had four wives him- 
self, and the ways of 
women were 
not strange to 

Lucie trem- 
bled, and her 
voice had a 
curious quiver 
in it as she 
answered, " I 
am hungry! 
I said to her 
that it would 
be good if my 
lord gave me 
of his cake to 
The Sheik allowed a grim grin to wrinkle 
his features. 

" Ye cannot eat of my salt," he answered, 
and then, after a pause, added the words "as 
yet. But food shall be given you." 1 

He nodded to the guard at his elbow, and 
the man withdrew. It was Lucette's oppor- 
tunity, and she seized it. 

" You are a very greedy man ! " she c ied, 
in the pure, sing-song Arabic she had learnt 
from her nurse, and with a lightning-like 
swiftness her lithe young body lanced out 
on him. Before he could even realize her 
intention she had grabbed the cake from his 
hand, leapt back, stuffed a piece between her 
cherry lips, and passed it instantly up to her 
mother's mouth. 

For a moment the Sheik stood dum- 
foundcd. Then with a muttered growl of rage 
'he lifted his sword and was about to drive it 
through the child, when Lucie flung herself 
bodily on him, her bound hands clinging 
frantically to his arm. 

M We have eaten of thy salt," she cried, 
" and our blood is sacred. If thou so much 
as liftest thy hand against us the curse of 




Allah and thy people will brand thee dis- 
honoured for ever." 

The Sheik's arm dropped, and he looked 
at the woman's pleading, flushed face, and 
his eyes dropped away furtively, sombrely. 
She looked very lovely, and he realized that 
a great and perhaps unique opportunity had 
been wrested from him the moment he had it 
in his grasp. Then a thin smile crept 
reluctantly for an instant round his stern old 
lips and wrinkled eyes. 

He put the woman from him with a sigh of 
regret. Her fairness would have shown as a 
pearl in the distant oasis where was his home. 
But Allah ordered otherwise, and was not 
Allah all-wise? He beckoned the child to 
approach him. Lucette came fearlessly, a 
bright wonder in her eyes. 

"Ye are my guests," he said, with a 
certain savage grandeur, "and all I have is 
yours. Ask, child ! What thou wilt, thou 
shalt have ! " 

As he spoke he cut the bonds of the woman 
with his sword. Lucette fairly danced. 

" I want the flag the men tore from me," 
she cried. 

" Why ? " asked the Sheik, fixing his eyes 
curiously on her. 

" Because my dada," answered the child, 
drawing herself up, " says that the flag is La 
France, and if you kill our soldiers that 
doesn't matter, for France will send more to 
avenge them. But to lose the flag, that is 
dishonour, and he would not live if he knew 
it was lost." 

" You shall have the flag," answered the 
Sheik, and with his own hands he took it 
from the wall of his tent and passed it gravely 
to her. She kissed it in a transport of joy. 

" Shall I have my dada too ? " she asked, 
looking up at him with eyes ablaze with 
exalntion and the joy of success. 

The Sheik, looking on the radiant face with 
that gleam as of golden sunlight in the black, 
sparkling eyes, smiled again, and laid his 
hand tenderly on the silken, rumpled locks. 

" Thy father is thine," he said. " And thou 
art a daughter fitting so brave a warrior." 

Lucette, with a shriek of joy, fairly leapt 
at the grizzled old warrior's neck, and for a 
moment the Sheik was wrapped in an 
embrace, in which the tricolour and a pair 
of sweet, fresh, ardent lips half smothered 
him. It was three days later when a little 
cavalcade, accompanied.' by bearers with a 
litter, halting at an oasis, saw in the glow of 
the setting sun a sudden glitter of blue tunics 
and the flicker and play of steel, whose wide 
extent told of an advancing column of some 

Digitized by LiOOgle 

strength. For a moment the Sheik stood in 
the ruddy glow, shading his eyes with his 
hands. Then briefly commanding the horses 
to be saddled, he turned to Lucette. 

"Fare thee well," he said. "Thy father 
will live, and where Ali Moussa, the Sheik, 
is, there he shall pass as my own mother, even 
though his own hand be raised to strike my 
head. A daughter of my tribe thou art, and 
if thou wilt come with me I will make thee a 
princess of ten thousand fighting men." 

Lucette's eyes kindled as she looked from 
her father to him. Then they shone through 
a sudden mist of tears, and her voice trembled 
as she shook her head. 

"You are a nice old man," she said, 
generously. " But I love my dada, and 
some day when he is general he will com- 
mand twice ten thousand fighting men." 

For a moment the Sheik's eyes danced, 
then he turned sombrely and without another 
word galloped off, and in three minutes was 
lost in a whirl of sand as he and his com- 
panions sought again their desert homes. 

Two hours later, around the litter of the 
wounded captain, a group of admiring officers 
drew rein, listening to Madame Heriault's 
tale as she pointed, now to the flag, now to 
the shrinking figure of her daughter. 

" Ah, yes," she concluded, " it is all true, 
my General. It is I who tell it to you. It 
was she who saved the colours, before she 
thought of her father's life, risking her own 
for his honour. l A mot] pour la patrie et mon 
plrej she cried ; and they fought, mon DUu, 
how they fought to reach her ! But they 
hadn't a chance. They were mown down 
fighting to the last. It was terrible, but it 
was grand." 

" Thou art a brave, mignon ! " said the 
grizzled old General, and his voice was 
curiously husky. As he spoke he stooped 
down and swung the child on to his saddle- 

" Thou art a brave ! " he repeated, " and 
thou shalt wear this to show all men how 
brave hearts stick to their captain and their 

And taking the Grand Cross of the Legion 
of Honour from his own breast he pinned it 
on to the child. And as Madame Heriault 
bent sobbing over her husband's hands, for 
all their discipline a mighty roar of delight 
and pride went up again and again from the 
dust-stained troops, as officer after officer, at 
a wave of their chiefs hand, filed past that 
eager, radiant, flushed, exultant child -face, 
and gravely saluted a true daughter of La 
Belle F rance -Qriainal f 


"A Penny for Your Thoughts I 

By Gertrude Bacon. 

OW often has each one of us 
been annoyed by that most 
aggravating and unmeaning 
phrase, "A penny for your 
thoughts," and how utterly 
impossible have we almost 
always found it to express in words the fleet- 
ing fancies of the brain, even if we have any 
inclination to do so for the sake of a hypo- 
thetical copper and the gratifying of mere 
idle curiosity ! 

Thoughts are proverbially hard to clothe 
in the restricting garments of language ; a 
general drift there is and a special tendency 
which constitutes in the 
main the particular in- 
dividuality and tempera- 
ment of the thinker, 
and in this drift and 
tendency, if we could 
only attain to it, lies 
the surest and most 
unerring key to the 
character and person- 
ality of each one of us. 

Though the tongue 
may not be able to give 
expression to the mind's 
general tendency, and 
to those thousand and 
one minute traits that 
go to make up an in- 
dividuality, yet the pen 
frequently can, and, in 
fact, unconsciously 
does so. Witness the 
character revealed in 
handwriting, or so 
markedly manifest in 
the blindfold pigs which appeared in this 
Magazine a few months ago. 

The idea suggested itself to the writer of 
undertaking a little investigation of her own 
which should have as its aim the unconscious 
self-delineation of character. This is an 
experiment which everyone can try for him- 
self — not without amusement and instruction. 
It is, in fact, a kind of game. Request any 
person to make a rough sketch of the first 
object that comes into his mind, and you 






will be astonished to find how often in the 
choice of the object the character of the 
individual is displayed. 

The plan adopted was to send to different 
individuals a request, similarly worded and 
inscribed, that they should draw in rough 
outline on a special sheet of paper inclosed — 
precisely similar in all cases — the first simple 
design that occurred to them ; the intention 
being that in these ideas, pictorially rendered, 
called to the mind without consideration — 
mere idle fancies of the moment, but sug- 
gested in each case by the same circum- 
stances—a true index to the personality of 
the artist might be 

The request in the 
present instance was 
sent to leading men 
and women of thought 
and action, partly be- 
cause of the greater 
general interest and 
our means of verifying 
results obtained; partly 
because their person- 
alities are more worthy 
subject for inquiry than 
the most of us, and 
partly because of the 
ancient saying that 
" great minds think 
alike. " The experi- 
ment has met with the 
most generous assist- 
ance from the majority 
to whom the bold 
request was made, and 
the ready kindness and 
courtesy of the distinguished ladies and 
gentlemen who have co-operated will be 
widely appreciated by our readers. 

First on our list comes the bold sketch of 
Sir Martin Conway, the great mountaineer ; 
and who will question the appropriateness of 
an ice-axe to the man who first succeeded in 
crossing the desolate, snow-covered bogs of 
Spitzbergen, and who has gone farther than 
anybody towards the conquering of the un- 
conquerable Himalayas? When Sir Martin 




"On the Face of 
very forefront of 

is not actually on a mountain or an Arctic 
glacier he is ever thinking of them. He has 
been higher up in the world in a literal sense 
than man has ever been yet except in 
balloons. He is the hero of two hundred 
peaks and of countless 
adventures and hair-breadth 
escapes among the heights 
he loves so well. To climb 
'is to him what to walk is to 
ordinary mortals, and it is 
just as certain that it would 
occur to him on the spur 
of the moment to draw an 
ice-axe or similar moun- 
taineering tool, in the bold, 
swift way that stamps his 
personality, as that if placed 
at the foot of an hitherto 
inaccessible crag he would 
find his way to the top. 

Less obvious at first sight, but in 
equally easy of interpretation, is the 
executed saucepan drawn by Mrs. 
The talented authoress of 
the Waters " stands in the 
living women writers. Alike in the stirring 
scenes of the great Mutiny, and in the tender 
pathos and wonderful insight into native 
character of " In the Permanent Way " and 
similar stories, she has shown her great literary 
genius, and in the fame of her novels it has 
come to be almost forgotten that the second 
book she ever published was one on Indian 
cookery. Cook- 
ing is still to her 
a favourite relaxa- 
tion, and shares 
with music, sing- 
ing, painting, the 
moments she 
devotes to recrea- 
tion. It is there- 
fore in every way 
appropriate and 
natural that a 
culinary imple- 
ment should first 
suggest itself to 

The observa- 
tion has been 
lately made by a 
well-known editor 

and writer for the popular Press that the 
finest training for the journalist is a thorough 
grounding in Euclid and Algebra. "A 
man who has mastered his Euclid," he 






says, " will always 

write with a purpose 


he will set out from a certain place and 
arrive at the destination he had in view 
when he started. He will treat any subject 
in an orderly and intelligent manner." The 
converse is equally true. The man who can 
arrange his thoughts and 
words in clear and logical 
treatment, can accurately 
gauge the importance of 
each point and knit his 
facts into an harmonious 
and well - balanced whole, 
will not only make a 
successful author or lecturer 
if his bent lies that way, but 
he will also, whether he 
know it or not, be possessed 
of a mathematical brain, 
and geometrical reasoning 
will present no difficulty 
to him. 
That such a well-known writer and lecturer 
as Dr. Andrew Wilson, then, should have 
contributed a triangle to our collection is in 
keeping with the fitness of things. But 
there is more reason than this. Dr. Wilson 
is much more than a mere journalist or 
popular instructor. He is a physician, a 
physiologist, a science worker and evolu- 
tionist. His methods — as those of all true 
scientists — are inductive, progressive, and 
orderly. From one train of reasoning he 
will deduce another ; one fact will lead him 
on by due sequence to the next, and though 

he may never 
(though this is 
unlikely) have 
proved a proposi- 
tion of Euclid in 
his life or solved 
an equation, the 
power is there 
nevertheless and 
the trick of the 

Mr. Bernard 
Partridge has 
drawn us a life- 
like representa- 
tion of a quill 
pen. The superi- 
ority of the draw- 
ing alone shows 
the artist, and 
for the man who can wield his pen 
more deftly than the majority of his 
countrymen, the grey goose-quill is exceed- 
ingly apt Not that we would have it 
believed that Mr. Partridge purposely drew 






a pen because he knew it to 
be appropriate to him. The 
unexpected request to draw 
something on the spur of the 
moment would almost infallibly 
have prompted his mind and hand 
to the execution of a sketch bear- 
ing on his two great natural gifts 
— drawing and acting — for he plays 
a double rdle. His clever black 
and white sketches and his in- 
imitable contributions to Punch 
bring to Mr. Bernard Partridge 
honour and renown enough to satisfy most 
men ; but the unstinted praise bestowed 
on the delightful acting of Mr. Bernard 
Gould has also to be added to his account 
There are few, indeed, who have thus the 
opportunity and ability for living, as it 
were, a double life, and distinguishing 

VoL xix.—2& 



themselves so greatly in either. Perhaps the 
fact that the graphic side of his personality 
lent itself more easily to pictorial illustra- 
tion somewhat influenced Mr. Partridge 
in choosing his design. Certain it is 
that the genius of the actor is perhaps less 
open than any other to symbolic representa- 

And this will explain the reason why the 

sketches drawn by two great past-mistresses 

of the art are at first sight somewhat difficult 

to interpret. Designers of drop scenes, 

theatrical embellishments, 

and the like must long 

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have felt the scantiness and inappro- 
priateness of the conventional emblems 
supposed to typify the stage. A 
horrible arrangement of masks, grinning 
insanely for comedy, and decidedly ghastly 
for tragedy, is generally the best that they 
can manage, and poor at that. Ancient 
Grecians must certainly have spoiled their 
noble dramas by their masks, and now the 
very name to us only conjures up visions 
of noisy little boys and Guy Fawkes' cele- 
brations. The fact is that since in itself the 
stage comprises everything, since its function 
is to mirror the whole range of human life, 
there can necessarily exist no one symbol 
which should be appropriate. 

But if there were any emblems that could 
at all express a special sentiment attaching 
to the actor's art, and more especially apper- 
taining to the actress's share, would not a 
heart, a flower, and a ring be among them ? 
Whatever human passions are portrayed 
before the footlights, and in whatever guise 
they are presented, the "motif" of love is 
never absent Miss Ellen Terry and Mrs. 
Patrick Campbell are called upon to interpret 
love in well-nigh every one of the hundreds 
of parts it falls to their lot to play with such 
consummate art. The latter has drawn a 
heart and a tiny blossom, and the former a 
ring, for the dash which separates it from her 
V-n I Q I n d I Trom 




playful exclamation 
below is not to be taken 
as belonging to the 




The next picture at least is not difficult to 
interpret. The distinguished President of 
the Royal Geographical Society has depicted 
an anchor. To test the appropriateness of 
his inspiration we will 
briefly call to mind 
the chief events of 
his stirring and useful 
career. He was born 
in Yorkshire, and at 
the age of fourteen 
entered the Royal 
Navy. Soon afterwards 
his ship was engaged in 
hunting the Riff pirates 
in the Mediterranean, 
years later he 

in one of the 

expeditions in 

of Sir John 
In 185 i he 

A few 

and then left the 
Service. For two years 
he travelled in Peru, 
later in India, where 
he introduced the 
cultivation of the 
cinchona plant He 
was Secretary to the Royal Geo- 
graphical Society for twenty-five years, 
received the gold medal on retirement, 
and has been President since 1894. He 
has published many books, including lives 
of great navigators and accounts of Arctic 
exploration. Comment here is unneeded. 
A man whose early education has been 
that of a sailor will never lose the maritime 
bias his mind has acquired, even when he 
has not constant association with all that is 
new and important in connection with marine 
exploration and enterprise to keep his interest 
fresh. In the case of the great geographer 
the strongest influences have been brought 
to bear, and his symbol is but the natural 
outcome of his upbringing and life's work. 
The beautiful and graceful head that Mrs 



Normand (Henrietta Rae) has so kindly 
favoured us with also needs no explanation. 
It is the work of a true artist, and the few 
quick, vigorous lines are instinct with thegenius 
which renders the pictures of Henrietta Rae 
so popular and so eagerly sought for in each 
succeeding Academy. As all lovers of her 
art are well aware, it is in the delineation 
of beautiful women that Mrs. Normand so 
greatly excels, and in her fancy of a moment 
she is true to her natural bent. 

At first Mr. Jacobs's picture might seem 
capable of several interpretations. It is 
slightly suggestive of a flower-pot or of a 
vase, but on more careful inspection all doubt 
vanishes : the author of " A Master of Craft " 
has depicted a glass 
of grog ! Now, Mr. 
Jacobs's special talent, 
which has given 
delight to such a vast 
circle of readers, lies 
in his unrivalled deline- 
ation, so humorous 
and yet so sympathetic, 
of a special class 
of working men who 
occupy their business 
in great waters. 
The loves, the woes, 
the wiles, of the skip- 
per, the mate, the cook, 
" George," the boy, 
and the charming if 
wilful heroines, are 
described with a force 
and vividness that make 
one at once realize that 
they are no phantoms 
of his brain that Mr. 
Jacobs is depicting, 
but living human beings, actual flesh 
and blood — quaint, worthy, humorous, 
and, be it added, 
thirsty souls every 
one ! Salt sea-breezes 
and hard . lives are 
provocative of thirst, 
and the cheery glass 
that never comes 
amiss to Jack ashore 
or afloat is no unfit- 
ting emblem to be 
chosen off- hand by 
one who is Jack's 
historian and friend. 

When Lady Flor- 
ence Dixie afforded 
proof of 

one more 



by LiOOgLC 

■_| 1 1 I tf I I I .' I I 






her never-failing 
kindness and con- 
descension by 
acceding to the 
request made her, 
she wrote that she 
did not understand 
exactly what she 
was intended to do. 

Her drawing on «__. 

this account, how- L 

ever, should not 

be considered as less conclusive ; in 
fact, rather the other way. She had no 
chance of thinking out, perhaps half un- 
consciously, what would be an appropriate 
or easy subject. She must perforce have been 
guided by the whim of the moment. To 
few people have been vouchsafed the wide 
and varied experience 
with which this notable 
lady has filled her 
life. Perhaps her most 
remarkable achieve- 
ments have been the 
exploration of the un- 
known wastes of that 
terra incognita^ Pata- 
gonia, and her connec- 



tion, as war corre- 
spondent and 
champion of Zulu 
rights, with the years 
of Boer and Zulu 
warfare. It is to 
one or other of 
these times that 
Lady Florence 
Dixie's mind has 
carried her back 
when she drew what 
is clearly a weapon 
of native warfare ; 
one doubtless fami- 
liar to her in her 
famous travels. 
When a delightful 
_..„____ humorist — who has 

"' charmed us all by his 

witty home - thrusts 
and his clever, if supremely amusing, 
character sketching, in which he lays bare 
with kindly, genial touch the fads and foibles 
of the Anglo-Saxon race — draws for us on 
the spur of the moment two comic heads 
illustrative of two different types of humanity, 
we are not disposed to suggest that there is 
anything inappropriate 
about his choice. Our 
warmest thanks are due 
to Mr. Max O'Rell 
for giving this last con- 
clusive touch to an 
experiment which has 
amply justified itself and 
proved successful almos 
beyond expectation. 




by Google 

Original from 



W-TCtog- MAGClECrOl^, 

BY R. E. VEftNfcDE. 

was a risen novelist* That is 
to say that, although but eight- 
and-twenty, he had just pub- 
lished his fourth novel, of which 
edition after edition was being 
so Id , while even his three more juvenile 
productions had brought him money, and his 
publishers were willing — almost anxious — for 
more, notwithstanding the fact that Mr, 
MacGregror, being of the race which, since 
the time of Culloden Field, has been more 
successful than chivalrous, dealt with them - 
in a manner calculated to profit the author 
not less than the publisher. 

His novels were compact of heather and 
peat, which he loved, and of the romance 
that springs from killing people "for the 
sake o* somebody w - -either a King or a 
lassie with lint-white locks — in the agreeable 
environment of blue-bells and haggis. His 
fir-st book, it is true, dealt only with heather 
and trout and Scottish scenery, but with the 
infinite capacity for taking pains that had 
once caused his dominie to swish him on 
suspicion of being a geniusj Mr, MacGregor 

Digitized by Li-OOQle 

had recognised that romance must accom- 
pany his future efforts. He found no diffi- 
culty in putting a claymore into his hero's 
hand in place of a fishing-rod, or in spilling 
on paper the blood of men rather than fish. 
The crux of romance to Mr. MacGregor was 
the inexorable necessity of a love interest. 
To tell the truth, while heather was almost 
second nature, and claymores could be 
studied with the dispassionate devotion of 
an archaeologist, women were something 
different, and had not been revealed to him. 
Vaguely he knew that lassies did not always 
forego stockings, and could not all be placed 
in the category of "lint-white/' 

Mr. MacGregor reflected upon this obvious 
truth as he paced up and down the Edin- 
burgh platform, waiting for the train that 
should take him to Paisley. Was not Miss 
Patsie Carrington, an English girl whom he 
had met, of quite a different colour? In 
effect, her hair was dark brown and she wore 
stockings at least, she did at that remember- 
able hall in Edinburgh a few weeks ago 
when, as Mr. MacGregor stood shyly at the 
entrance to the halL contemplating escape, 




she had passed through the crowd of men 
with gay little bows and noddings 1 an admir- 
able Coquette, all robed in shining brown. 

He had compared her in a ruminating, un- 
imaginative way to a glossy brown sparrow 
that had attracted his attention in the fore- 
noon as it hopped jauntily in the meadows, 
moving with cranings of the neck, provok- 
ingly restless, sucking sweet food frotn many 
grasses. Even so jauntily moved Miss 
Patsie Carrington, and sucked the honey of 
compliments from many men. He had felt 
the inadequacy of the comparison — had 
plucked up his courage, put on his gloves, 
begged a dance of her. She of her kind- 
ness had allowed him two, and had reeled 
before him angelically to the tune of the 

Since that night, and particularly when he 
had met Miss Carrington, which, by a series 
of chances, had happened several times, 
strange thrills had possessed the marrow of 
Mr. MacGregor, and had distracted him 
from his former whole-hearted admiration of 
the heather. Nevertheless, it must be 
admitted that he had not made much 
progress in depicting heroines. He had 
honestly tried to show one true to life 
in his latest romance, which had been 
re-written in parts since the night of the 
ball. He had so far departed from his 
custom as to signify that the heroine's 
hair was of a dark brown texture ; but, 
apart from this, he was conscious, as he 
paced the platform, that he had not greatly 

It was impossible — quite impossible — that 
the Scottish hero, who, as usual, was to ride 
off and slaughter, should be subjected to a 
course of teasing and raillery from the 
heroine, even though her hair was of dark 
brown. And yet, for the sake of consistency, 
such indignities would inevitably befall the 
hero if Mr. MacGregor visualized Miss P. 
Carrington, and transferred her — life-size — as 
heroine to his pages. Such a course was 
not in keeping with the traditions of Scottish 
romance. Mr. MacGregor had endeavoured 
to drive the image of Miss Carrington from 
his head. 

In despair, he had resorted to the plan 
pursued in his earlier novels, viz. : the hero had 
proposed in a few well-chosen words, and a 
quotation from the Latin, had been accepted— 
of course — whereupon by a few deft happen- 
ings (the sound of the pibroch, maybe, heard 
at night over the misty hills, or the news 
of the murder of his fourth cousin twice 
removed) he had been compelled to ride 

Digitized by V_iOOgIe 

off upon his adventures, after imprinting 
an exceedingly chaste kiss (under the impres- 
sion, apparently, that she had a headache) 
upon the heroine's brow. The lassie remained 
in peaceful retirement until chapter the last, 
when she emerged radiant at the return of 
the hero— to receive an account of his adven- 
tures and yet another kiss — as preventive 
against another headache. 

The public had bought the book. Mr. 
MacGregor thought on this with a certain 
gloat of satisfaction. He was in such a state 
of exaltation that the lateness of the train 
did not disturb him. He stopped at the 
bookstall and bought a review to read on 
the journey. In the meantime, he turned to 
the literary pages and found his own book 
criticized. He read it with eagerness. It 
was favourable — distinctly ; it noted his best 
passages — it even praised mediocre ones. 
What was this? — ". . . unquickened part 
played by heroine — we should recommend 
the author the study of the difficult art of 
wooing before he gives us another heroine." 

Mr. MacGregor closed the review with a 
frown. It was intolerable chatter ! What 
business was it of this impertinent critic 
— more interested in domesticity than in 
literature — to cast reflections upon his 
heroine? Besides, was it such an un- 
quickened part that the heroine played? 
She had the most pleasing maidenly pro- 
pensities : the blush had grown on her 
shame-fast cheek when the hero put the 
question, and, with mild but amiable femini- 
nity, she had wept for a short time in his 
arms, calling him her own true lord and 
requesting him not to set out on adventures — 
as maidens will. Naturally, the hero had 
rebuked her with a quotation from the Greek 
— "Silence is the most seemly virtue of a 
woman" — and had made it clear that he 
loved honour more. 

" Unquickened part ? " Nonsense ! She 
was a very reasonable heroine, fit mate for a 
Scot No doubt other kinds of women did 
exist, but Mr. MacGregor painted what he 
knew — somebody comfortable and stead- 

The image of Miss Carrington rose for a 
moment to the Novelist's mind, and seemed 
to justify the reviewer. But the Novelist 
put it from him. In any case, he would not 
have his novels overrun with the whims and 
caprices of some will-o'-the-wisp. He could 
conceive angels — only they must be in marble 
— winged, if you will, but statuesque, not 
flying through air elvishly. 

The train fizzed into the station as Mr. 




MacGregor came to this conclusion, and lie 
hurried forward to secure a seat, Opening 
the door of the carriage that seemed to him 
emptiest, he found himself face to face with 
the only occupant— Miss Patsie Carrington* 

" Eh ? But it's you ? " said the Novelist^ 
elegantly, but in some confusion. 

Miss Carrington bowed, and smiled upon 
him graciously. 

" And wull ye be ganging to Paisley, Miss 
Carrington ? " inquired the Novelist, all his 
previous displeasure forgotten, 

" Yes," she said. " Shall I have the 
pleasure of your company as far as that ? " 

" Ye wull/' said the Novelist. Polite 
dialogue is not the strongest feature of 
Scottish romance. 

Miss Carrington bit her underlip for a 
moment, as though she had some difficulty 
in withholding a retort; but only a gleam 
of merriment came into her mischievous 
eyes, and* the train starting at the same 
moment, she sank back in her seat behind 
a novel, 

Mr, MacGregor recognised it as a father 
might his child, 

" Eh, but ye're reading ma book," he said, 
elated, but bashful 

" Your book ! " said Miss Carrington, with 
apparent surprise, turning to the title-page. 

" Ah'm thinking so," said the Novelist, 

" I suppose/' said Miss Carrington, 
slowly, <( I suppose I ought to congratulate 
you on it. The 
critics seem to have 
done so. But " — 
she leant forward, 
with indignation in 
her tones — * f do you 
really imagine a 
heroine could be- 
have like that ? " 

" Eh ? ■ said the 
Novelist, discon- 
c e r t e d . "Ma 
heroine? Whatll 
be wrang with 
Maisie ? " 

Maisie was the 
name of the 

"What will be 
wrong?" asked Miss 
Carrington, in deep 
scorn. "Do you sup- 
pose you are so— 
I mean, your hero 
is so ■ — irresistible 

us to win a heroine's affections with a 
few pompous words and a quotation from 
the Latin? Do you imagine she wdbld 
weep in your — I mean, his — arms and call 
you — him- her own true lord, whenever he 
went for a ride, and be as meek and mild 
and turnip-headed as a quarter-grown lamb? 
Had you really the impression that heroines 
watch for hours and rush out at the sound 
of a horse- hoof like infatuated rabbits, and 
all to be lectured in Greek ? I don't know 
the woman -" 

Miss Carrington sank back in her seat, 
exhausted by her vehement championship of 
the sex, and the Novelist scratched his head 
humbly. He was dimly trying to guess why 
Miss Carrington had taken so decided a 
dislike to his heroine. 

"Ah'm thinking," he said at last, "aiblins 
ah'll not be denying, after all, that it's no so 
unlikely that " 

The glory of Lowland Scottish, as a 
language, is that it admits of infinite pre- 
varication, No tongue can be adapted so 
to favour the unwilling witness and preserve 
him from precipitate perjury ; no other is 
fitted so to distract the impatient cross- 
examine^ whether in the person of a 
bewigged counsel or a maiden with dark 
brown hair, 

" that it's no so unlikely" — went on 

Mr, MacGregor, feeling his way with super- 
fluity of cunning — "that ma heroine could, 
under the progression of mair ordinair 






circumstances, have been exheebited in a less 
secondary poseetion " 

" Indeed ! " said Miss Carrington, loftily. 

"And of a demeanour no so reticent," 
added the Novelist, willing to be as generous 
as circumstances permitted. 

"I think, Mr. MacGregor" — Miss Carring- 
ton spoke with haughtiness — " you might be 
more straightforward in admitting that your 
heroine is a nonentity — simply a nonentity. 
Really, no better than Burns's mouse — 

A wee stickit tim'rous cowrin' beestie. 

And the hero is so terribly self-complacent " 

" He'll be a lad of pairts, na dout," said 
the backward-driven Novelist, trying to regard 
this description of the hero as complimentary. 
" Ye'd no be desiring the twa of them to keep 
the front together ? " 

" I desire," said Miss Carrington, " that 
no novelist depict a woman until he has 
at least an elementary idea of what a woman 

The severity of this criticism tongue-tied 
the Novelist during a short period, in which 
the train ran a monotonous mile or two, and 
Miss Carrington continued to read with a 
hypercritical smile of scorn upon her face. 
She liked the man — perhaps she did more 
than like him. But he had no business, 
even in a novel, to talk of love with such 
obtuse complacency, and lightly assume 
familiarity with that which she held sacred. 
So she read on, and let her scorn be 

The Novelist at first felt angry, and anger 
carries with it the conviction of unjust treat- 
ment ; but this subsided gradually into an 
injured feeling, which amounts to an admis- 
sion that there was some reason in the 

"And what like, if I may ask ye," said the 
Novelist, humbly, "would ye have the heroine 
to be?" 

Miss Carrington looked up from her book 
with an air of tolerating the interruption, 
though she had forgotten the matter in 

"What like? Oh, the heroine? I am 
not a novelist, you see, Mr. MacGregor, 
and I do not know the limitations of your 
art Am I to assume that you draw your 
characters from life, more or less ? " 

" It'll be an important adjunct," the 
Novelist conceded. 

" In that case I — that is to say — a real 
heroine," Miss Carrington corrected her slip 
very hastily, " would be very different from 
yours. For instance, she would not for one 

Digitized by Ot 

moment endure a didactic lover. He'd have 
to come down off his high horse — in both 
senses. No Latin quotations would be 
listened to, and — only perhaps you will think 
this a small matter — " Miss Carrington 
looked at the Novelist out of the corners of 
her large, innocent eyes — " I don't think she 
would want to be kissed on the forehead." 

" Ay ! " said the Novelist, rashly. " That'll 
be no great deeficulty. She'll like it on her 
cheeks, na dout, or maybe on her lips ? " 

" Indeed ? " said Miss Carrington, and a 
sudden frost had come into her voice. " No 
great difficulty ? On her cheek or her 

" Did ye no mean that ? " said the Novelist, 

" On her cheek — or lips ? " The measured 
repetition chilled the very bones of the 

" There wull no be any ither vera suitable 
situation, wull there?" he inquired, des- 

" Perhaps," said Miss Carrington, in a voice 
of infinite condescension, " if he went on his 
knees to beg the favour, he might be per- 
mitted to kiss — her hand ! " 

" That wouldna be a vera dignified posee- 
tion for a hero," objected the Novelist. 

"Ah," said Miss Carrington, compassion- 
ately. "Poor soul, then he would have to 
dispense with the heroine. Real heroines, 
Mr. MacGregor, are so dreadfully selfish. 
They never seem to consider the hero's 
dignity. Possibly they think it a great 
honour for the hero to obey thei/ very 
slightest wish." 

Miss Carrington, having delivered herself 
of this judgment, leaned back negligently 
in her seat after the fashion of a queen at 
ease, as though she neither wished nor 
expected contradiction. She looked out 
upon the landscape, through which the train 
was rushing — hills purple and grey, rivers 
brown with spate, kine shaggy and contented 
— with idle equanimity. 

To the Novelist, on the other hand, a 
phenomenon, strange in his experience, 
occurred. It seemed to him that his knees, 
in obedience to some unaccountable im- 
pulse, were stretching downward — yes — 
without any doubt they were — outward 
and downward, dragging his body after him. 
He was leaving the seat of the railway car- 
riage — he had left it — he was on the dusty 
floor upon his knees at the feet of Miss 

His amazement at this phenomenon was 
such that he was hardly conscious of his 

u I I I ■_' I I I 





actions, but a precautionary instinct moved 
him at the same time to knock over the 
packet of sandwiches he had brought with 
him, partly that he might by that means 
attract the attention of Miss Carrington, who 
was still looking out of the window ; partly 
that he might have some pretext for his 
unusual behaviour in case of contingencies. 

Miss Carrington, her ear caught by the 
sound of the falling sandwiches, turned her 

" Whatever is the matter, Mr. MacGregor?" 
she asked, sweetly, on seeing the Novelist in 
this unusual position. 

The train let off steam in a shrill whistle. 
It was not in the least like the sound of 
the pibroch over misty hills. The Novelist 
wished it were, and that he himself, like one 
of his own heroes, were out on the heather, 
mounted, arm'd cap-Apt^ magnanimously 
receiving into his arms the form of the 
fainting heroine* 

"Ah — ah've dropped ma sandwiches," was 
all he could say. 

" I hope you will find them," said Miss 
Carrington, coldly, transferring her attention 
to the landscape once more, with an obvious 
lack of interest. 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 

Shades of his heroes, wear- 
ing countenances full of re- 
proach for his weak-minded 
evasion, rose before the 
Novelist's eyes. 

"Na, na," he said, in 
agonized tones, " it's a lee ! 
Ah — ah ? m meaning that it 
was no ma sandwiches. The 

fa-act is ■" 

"We are just coming into 
a station," said Miss Carring- 
ton, hurriedly. 

The Novelist rose from his 
laves in dire apprdumsion 
that the station was Paisley, 
If so, w r hat might he not 
have lost, what further ad- 
ventures might he not have 
to go through before he 
attained his heart's desire? 
Enough — if he were writing 
a novel — to make fifteen 
chapters and justify the hero 
in receiving half - a - dozen 
wounds. Even if it were not 
Paisley — which meant parting 
— what had happened ? Had 
Miss Carrington understood 
what was in his mind ? Had 
she shrunk from him or not? 
Or had she simply taken for truth that 
detestable falsehood of his in the matter 
of the sandwiches ? 

It w x as not Paisley, but there were several 
passengers waiting to get in, Mr, MacGregor 
would have guarded the carriage-door against 
a lion, or a regiment of crowing Highlanders 
skilled in handling the claymore ; hut while 
he was bold in imagination, he was out- 
manoeuvred in practice. The handle of the 
door was turned suddenly, and a middle- 
aged man entered and took a seat A tall, 
reedy man he was, with red whiskers and 
blue spectacles, behind which his eyes 
seemed to glare fiercely. 

There could be no excuse for turning this 
gentleman out. Miss Carrington would 
probably resent the attempt. And so, with 
Mr, MacGregor in a most unwonted state of 
pert Li r hat ion, the train started once more 
along the lines. Miss Carrington still read 
her book, but the scorn had gone from her 

The third passenger seemed a most irrit- 
able person. He fidgeted incessantly on 
his seat ; he folded and unfolded his paper ; 
he took off his blue spectacles and stared at 
the Novelist ; be put them on again and 



glared at him. Finally ,, he assumed a rigid 
attitude, and cracking the fingers of both his 
hands loudly, said, in a harsh, monotonous 
voice : — 

"I won't have it— I won't — won't — won't 
— won't have it \ " 

Miss Carring- 
ton looked up 
with some sur- 
prise from her 

" What'll ye 
no hae ? " in- 
quired the 

said the third pas- 
senger, fiercely, 
"g-r-r-r-r! JJ 

" Oh ! " cried 
Miss Carrington 
in alarm, drop- 
ping her book 
at this sudden 

repeated the 
third passenger. 
He seemed as if 
he were trying 
to qualify for 
a Maxim gun, 

"Wull ye be 
having a cold 
in your head?" 
inquired the 
Novelist, with studied politeness. 


There was no other response, and the 
Novelist felt a small hand placed nervously 
on his own, as Miss Carrington whispered, 
tremulously : — 

ls What shall we do f Mr, MaeGregor? I'm 
— I'm afraid the man's mad." 

" Ah'm thinking that maybe he's a Natural," 
said the Novelist, reassuringly. " But alvll no 
let him hurt ye. Dinna fash yoursel' at all." 
Then, raising his voice sternly, the Novelist 
went on, " Wll understand that the like of 
such whustling wull no be conducive to the 
peace of mind of the lady passenger," 

"Yow — yow — yow ! " said the third pas- 
senger, in the tone of a snapping dog, 

"And Til hae ye tak* a care," said the 
Novelist, angrily, " that ye dinna repeat it." 

Natural or artificial, this man was not going 
to flout him and alarm Miss Carrington with 
impunity. The small hand still touched the 
Novelist's arm, as if for safety, 

VoL xU,-27 


The only answer vouchsafed by the third 
passenger consisted in the repetition of the 
word "Boo," several times, while he shifted 
his nose into a vertical position, so that his 
eyes leered from under the blue spectacles. 
" Mind now ! " said the Novelist. 

The third pas- 
senger drew from 
his side - pocket 
a large bowie 
knife, which he 
stroked tenderly, 
purring the while, 
like a well-filled 
cat. The con- 
dition of affairs 
was growing 
serious. Miss 
Carrington had 
fallen back on 
her seat, with a 
little shriek, and 
the Novelist had 
risen to his 

"Set aw a' 
your implement," 
he said, firmly. 
The strange man 
made no answer. 
He sat, stroking 
and purring, and 
his eyes blinked 
cunningly under 
his spectacles. 
11 D 'ye hear 
making a step to- 

u A-rmrnF.. 

me ? >J said the Novelist, 
wards him* 

In that instant the mere twinkling of an 
eye — the man unsheathed his knife, leapt 
from the seat, and ran at Mr, MaeGregor, 
head downward, a full-blown lunatic. 

lt Help ! " shouted Miss Carrington, in the 
extremity of fear. 

She hid her face in her hands and was 
conscious of loud scuffling. This way and 
that the combatants surged — a writhing knot, 
the Novelist panting with deep breaths, the 
madman snarling and yapping horribly. 
Bump bump — she heard the banging of 
heads, and seemed to hear the straining of 
their set muscles. Then a great draught 
blew across the carriage, and she opened her 
eyes to see the farther door wide open, and 
the Novelist standing beside it alone. 

The train was steaming through moorland 
country unheedingly* 

1£ Where is he?" asked Miss Carrington, 


2 10 



"Ah*vefchrow , d him out/' said the Novelist, 
in a doleful voice, "and alVm thinking that, 
aiblins, alvd hetter be ganging after him." 

" Why ? » said Miss Carrington. " You'll 
be killed." 

" It'll be a hanging matter anyway, ah'm 
thinking/' said the Novelist, lugubriously, 
"for its no a legal proceeding to be throw- 
ing a Natural out of the train." 

M But I can witness that you did it in self- 
defence," urged Miss Carrington. 

" The irain'll no be driving mair than 
sixteen miles the hour, 1 ' said the Novelist, 
stubbornly, stepping to the open door. 

"It is," said Miss Carrington, "much 
more/ 1 

"And ali'm a feared the poor deevil has 
hutted himseiy* said the Novelist, looking out 
upon the line, 

" Stop !" said Miss Carrington, imperiously. 
To be imperious is the divine right of a 
maid, while to subserve is luxury to a man. 
But this was no time for Mr. MacGregor to 
find luxury in subservience any more than 
ever it was to the heroes of his novels when 
the pibroch was blown at midnight over the 
misty hills, 

"\VII tak 3 care to close the door ahint 
me?" he said, apologetically, ard without 
more ado flung himself carefully from the train. 

t fOogle 

Miss Carrington 
saw him fall in a 
h e a p upon a 
heathery patch, 
and lie a moment, 
sky. Then he 
picked himself up 
and shook himself 
to see if he were 
unbroken. Wav- 
ing his hand in 
her direction to 
emphasize the 
closing of the 
door> he made his 
way along the side 
of the line to 
where the lunatic 
had fallen — a 
mile away now. 
His foot was on 
his native heath, 
so that he strode 
manfully. And 
Miss Carrington 
pulled the bell 
above the carriage 

" And he — he's left his sandwiches ! " she 
said to herself, hysterically, divided between 
tears and laugh ten 

The train drew up in an instant, and Miss 
Carrington having explained matters to the 
guard, a detachment of able-bodied volunteers 
hastened down the line. Mr. MacGregor, 
bearing his broken-legged foe, met them half- 
way. The foe was placed in the guard's 
compartment with a doctor in charge, and 
Mr. MacGregor returned to his former 

Once more the train moved towards 

" I think/ 5 said Miss Carrington, demurely, 
handing the Novelist a packet- "I think 
these are your sandwiches." 

" It was a lee about the dratted sand- 
wiches/ 1 said Mr. MacGregor, finding himself 
upon his knees once more* 

" Then what are you looking for ? " she 

" Alrm thinking it's a heroine," said the 
Novelist, audaciously, 

" And so I shall have the pleasure of your 
company even farther than Paisley/' said 
Miss Patsie Carrington, shortly afterwards, 
with mischievous intent, 

" Ye wull/' *?.id f.hs Novelist, 



" La Fronde \ n 

The First Daily Paper Produced for Women by Women, 
By Frederick Dolman. 

WOMEN'S "daily" has for 
a long Lime been the; dream of 
same " advanced women "in 
England and America. By 
some strange irony of circum- 
stances the 

practical realization of 
this dream has been 
left to the gay and 
frivolous Pari sien n e — as 
she is pictured, that is, 
by her Anglo - Saxon 

In the autumn of 1897 
the following advertise- 
ment attracted some 
amount of attention 
throughout France : — ■ 

Women form the majority 
of the population in France. 
Thousands of women, spin- 
sters or widows, are living in 
independence of me n . Woine n 
pay taxes, though they cannpt 
vote, contribute by their 
manual or intellect nal labour 
to the wealth of the nation, 
and claim the right to be 
heard on all questions per- 
taining to the society of which 
they are members equally wilh 

La Frondi % a women's 


journal for women, will be the faithful echo of I heir 
feelings, wants, and claims. 

On the boulevards this announcement was 
received with no small amount of ridicule 
and derision, and when it was learned that 
the new paper was to be 
entirely produced by the 
work of women, it was 
freely prophesied that the 
" fad " would not last a 
month. But when the 
first number of La 
Fronde appeared on 
Decern bt-r gth, 1897, the 
tone completely changed. 
The Press generally gave 
the fair new-comer 
something better than a 
chivalrous welcome, and 
200,000 copies were sold. 
In a short time the sound 
editorship, accurate in- 
formation, and philo- 
sophic style of La 
Fronde caused it to be 
dubbed " the Times in 
petticoats " — a sobriquet 
which its conductors 
smilingly accepted as 
high compliment. 





ffaftM a] 


( PhotoffTittih. 

It has celebrated its second birthday, and 
looking at a copy of La Ftonde in com- 
parison with its Paris contemporaries, I should 
unhesitatingly conclude that the first daily 
journal "feminin and feminists* had come 
to stay. 

" But La Fronde ? " I can hear the puzzled 
reader exclaim. Many visitors to Paris, 
glancing at the papers on the kiosks, must 
have passed this, the title conveying no 
meaning to them, They may or may not 
remember that this was the name given to a 
certain civil war which afflicted France in 
1648-53, The historical recollection does 
not give much help. The civil war was 
nicknamed " I, a Fronde, SJ or " The War of 
the Sling," from the mimic conflict of boys 
with this weapon in the ditches of Paris. 
The leaders of the people against the Parlia- 
ment spoke of it 
as a i( war of the 
public weal "; but 
Michelet, the his- 
izes the 

as " a burlesque 
war," " a war of 
children with a 
child's nickname." 
This little excur- 
sion into history, 
therefore, leaves us 
no wiser as to the 
fitness of this title 
for women's 
pioneer in daily 
journalism. When 
Madame Emmy 
Fournier, the ri- 
dact rice-en-chef— or 
acting editor, as 
we should say — 
was questioned on j-^mu 

the point she could only shrug her shoulders. 
So we must conclude that this choice of a 
title is the one piece of caprice in this note- 
worthy enterprise with which Madame Mar- 
guerite Durand, the founder and editor of 
La Fronds has justified her sex. 

Paris has not its Fleet Street, the newspaper 
offices being scattered about the west central 
district, The La Fronde building is in the 
Rue St. Georges, a quiet street off the Rue 
de la Fayette, It is a typical Parisian hStel 
of five storeys, with white stonework and 
latticed windows, converted for the nonce to 
the purposes of newspaper production — such 
a building as contrasts most agreeably with 
the dingy, smoke-begrimed bricks and mortar 
of our own Fleet Street. An electric arc 
lamp illumines the title, La Fr&nde, and 
reveals in the lower windows large copies of 






Mile. Dufau's symbolical 
picture of the women of 
the country^ whether in 
the costume of the peasant 
or in that of the nun, join- 
ing hands together and 
acclaiming the newspaper 
as the herald of the en- 
franchisement of their sex. 

An inquiry of a matronly 
janitor in her little office 
at the foot of the stair- 
case brings down a girlish 
messenger in neat black 
dress, who conducts me 
to the room of Madame 
Fournier, redactr ice-en-chef. 
Madame Fournier is busy 
with MSS, and proofs, 
but rises from her chair, 
and with all the charm of 
one of the most charming 
Parisiennes it has been 
my good fortune to meet, 
at once places herself at 
my disposal for this article 
in The Strand Maga- 

La Fronde^ she tells 
me, was founded entirely 
by the efforts of Madame 
Marguerite Durand. As 

Durand had become inti- 
mately acquainted with 
politics and politicians, and 
for some time before under- 
taking the present enter- 
prise she had contributed 
to the Figaro* About a 
dozen ladies were cm- 
ployed as members of the 
indoor staff, as writers, 
sub-editors* and reporters, 
all of whom came practi- 
cally fresh to the routine 
work of a newspaper office, 
Besides these, there were 
twenty or thirty regular 
contributors to the 
columns of La Fronde \ 
whom had had 
journalistic ex- 
in writing occa- 
sionally for other papers* 
Of this number the most 
distinguished was the lady 
with whose work, under the 
nom - de -plume of " Sev- 
erine," Paris had long been 
familiar, S^verine contri- 
butes nearly every day a 
short political and social 
cause rie, under the title of 
" Notes d'une Frond euse." 
the wife of a well-known Deputy, Madame I made the acquaintance of some members 

most of 


From a FhotoffrppK 

Fvffrrt oj 






2 14 


Frtm <*J 


of the staff when Madame Foumier took 
me over the building. With the financial 
editor, for instance, a young lady who with 
tape and telephone by her side was absorbed 
in Bourse quotations and reports ; perhaps it 
was by way of relief from such prosaic things 
that she had decorated the walls of her 
room with the playbills of Paris theatres, 
unless, indeed, this was the work of her 
confrere^ the dramatic critic, who at other 
hours may pen her " notices " at this same 
desk. I met this lady on the staircase, 
about to make her way to a premiere at one 
of the theatres, and was there introduced to 
an editorial writer who had just arrived for 
her evening's work. The re- 
porters' room was empty, and I 
was disappointed in not seeing 
the two fair correspondents 
who won renown at Rennes 
by their pen - pictures of the 
trial of Dreyfus, whose cause, 
by the way, has been cham- 
pioned by La Fronde from its 
first number. 

Judging by those whom I 
saw and by their portraits, as 
published in these pages, ks 
Frondeum may be described 
as a body of intellectual 
women, full of energy and 
vivacity, many still having the 
bloom of youth, and most that 
piquant charm which is so 
seldom found outside Paris, 
In her manner and costume' 

Digitized byX-OOO I C 

nothing could be 
more unlike the 
" blue stockings " 
of a caricature 
which is scarcely 
yet discredited. 
Even the empty 
rooms through 
which I pass be- 
speak the femi^ 
ninity of their 
usual occupants — 
in the scent of 
flowers, the air of 
delicacy given by 
a dozen little 
knick-knacks, and 
in other less defin- 
able ways. There 
is but one excep- 
tion to the woman- 
liness of La 
Fronde^ in the 
person of one of the political writers who 
chooses to don masculine attire* after the 
example of the great artist, Rosa Bonheur, 

Madame Durand's editorial sanctum looked 
almost as pretty as a pretty boudoir under 
the soft glow of electric light, irradiating the 
light tints of its decoration and furnishing. 
The dainty writing-table and luxuriously easy 
chairs suggested a delightful union between 
the graces of life, with its weightier cares and 
responsibilities, as exemplified in the direc- 
tress of a daily newspaper, Among other 
photographs in the room were many portraits 
of members of Madame Durand's staff, 
apropos of which I learned of the warm spirit 






of comradeship animating 
all fe$ Frondeuses. They 
dine together on the day 
of St. Margaret— Madame 
Durand's patron saint — 
and on page 213 appears 
a picture of last year's 
festival at a well-known 
garden restaurant in the 
Bois de Boulogne* Ad- 
joining Madame Durand's 
room is the La Fronde 
library, In this apart- 
ment, which is no less 
tastefully furnished, are 
being collected all the 
books published by 
Frenchwomen, Practically 
all that have been given 
to the world since the 
establishment of La 
Fronde are to be found, 
and nearly every day pre- 
sentation copies of new 
works arrive from their 

The composing-room is 
at the top of the building. 
About twenty women are 
employed, gathered to- 
gether from various print- 
ing establishments in Paris, There is a neat- 
ness, a cleanliness I cannot help noticing 
about these ouvritres and their work such as is 
not usually associated with a type-setting esta- 
blishment. The young woman to whom the 
task of proof-reading is intrusted sits in an 
adjoining corridor, a picture of pleasant 
serenity such as her occupation does not 
always engender. But, then, there is no 
grinding machinery 
to rack her nerves. 
The actual print- 
ing of La Fronde,, 
as is not unusual 
with Paris news- 
papers, I believe* 
is put out to con- 
tract and is done 
in other premises. 
On the other hand, 
the business con- 
nected with adver- 
tisements and the 
sale of the paper 
is carried on here 
by a staff of lady 
clerks, who are 
prettily uniformed 

From a Photograph* 

in green cloth and white 

Descending to the 
ground floor again* 1 finish 
my tour of inspection with 
the salon — an important 
feature in the establish- 
ments of leading French 
newspapers* In this com- 
modious yet cosy hall, 
resembling a large draw- 
ing-room, ladies come and 
take afternoon tea or a 
glass of wine, read the 
paper, or chat with their 
friends for half an hour 
or so. Now and again, it 
is the scene of evening 
parties at which Madame 
Durand acts as hostess. 
On such occasions you 
would meet there not 
merely the leaders of the 
"woman's movement" in 
France, but also a com- 
pany of the most distin- 
guished men and women 
of Paris in politics, art, 
literature, and journalism. 
Splendid toilettes dazzle 
the eyes, musical " stars " 
enchant the ears. The most recent of 
these brilliant functions took place last 
December in celebration of the second anni- 
versary of the newspaper, when Madame 
Durand received a testimonial from its 
friends and admirers in the shape of a 
bronze Iws-relitf by the sculptress, Madame 
Syamour, representing " the woman of the 
past n raising her veil of ignorance and 






b'rtmv u \ 


discerning the coming of a new day for 
her sex* 

This safari is also the meeting-place of 
several societies in which La Fronde^ as a 
newsi>aper, takes a sympathetic interest. 
The l( Ligue du Droit des Femmes," for 
instance, meets here once a month. By 
its persistent advocacy as well as practical 
aid it is said that La Fronde has already 
proved itself an important factor in bring 
ing about reforms that Frenchwomen have 
long desired — such as the right to the dis- 
posal of their own earnings or properties, 
their representation on tribunals of com- 
merce, and their admission as ny&cafs* 

It must not be supposed, however, that 
La Fronde concerns itself only with feminine 
affairs. Published at a sou, it contains four 
fairly large pages — being about the same size 
as most of the Paris " dailies " — and probably 
about half this space is occupied by matter 
which would interest men as well as women, 
such as home and foreign politics, literature 
and the drama, finance and sport —although 

sport is treated 
mainly from a 
woman's stand- 
point. On the 
other hand, the 
heading " Le 
Home " is so un- 
familiar in a 
French newspaper 
as to give it a 
very distinctive 
m ean ing. La 
Fr&nde shows a 
strong interest in 
the welfare of 
working women — 
among whom it 
circulates largely — 
and has organized 
a special depart- 
ment for the 
benefit of the 
female "unem- 
ployed." In poli- 
tics generally it is 
Radical and 
Republican, and 
— true to the best 
instincts of women 
—is all for peace 
and amity in inter- 
national relations. 
Very vigorous 
were its protests, by the way, against the 
insults to Queen Victoria which were 
recently rampant in a disreputable section 
of the French Press. 


brom a\ 

HE EDI TOU I A I, TFT. 1 1 'hotttprayk- 

by Google 

Original from 

Hilda Wade. 

By Grant Allen. 

[We cannot allow the concluding chapter of ibis siory to go to pre*s ivithout an expression of our deep reRret at Mr. Grant 
Allen's lamented del ih— a ixgrei in which none will join more sincerely than the render* jf this Magazine, whom he did so 
much to entertain. A man uf wide and cultured knowledge and of the rncwi charming personality, a writtr who, treating of & 
wide variety of subjects, touched nothing which he did not he-unify, he filled a place which no man living can exactly occupy,. 
The following chapter had been roughly sketched before his final illness, and his anxiety, when debarred from work, to see it 
finished wa^ relieved by the considerate kindness of hh friend and neighbour, Dr. Cotlan Doyle, who, hearing of his trouble, 
talked: it over with him, gathered his ideas, and finally wrote it out for him in the form in which it now appears — a beautiful 

and paihetic act of friendship which it is a pleasure to record] 


WILL not trouble you with 
details of those three terrible 
days and nights when we drifted 
helplessly about at the mercy 
of the currents on our impro- 
vised life-raft up and down the 
English Channel The first night was the 
worst : slowly after that we grew used to the 
danger, the cold, the hunger, and the thirst; 
our senses were numbed : we passed whole 
hours together in a sort of torpor, just vaguely 
wondering whether a ship would come in 
sight to save us, obeying the merciful law 
that those who are utterly exhausted are 
incapable of acute fear, and acquiescing in 
the probability of our own extinction- But 
however slender the chance— and as the hours 
stole on it seemed slender enough Hilda 
still kept her hopes fixed mainly on Sebastian. 

Vol. xix.-2a. 


No daughter could have watched the father 
she loved more eagerly and closely than 
Hilda watched her life-long enemy— the man 
who had wrought such evil upon her and 
hers. To save our own lives without him 
would be useless. At all hazards, she must 
keep him alive, on the bare chance of a 
rescue. If he died, there died with him the 
last hope of justice and redress. 

As for Sebastian, after the first half-hour, 
during which he lay white and unconscious, 
he opened his eyes faintly, as we could see 
by the moonlight, and gazed around him 
with a strange, puzzled stare of inquiry. 
Then his senses returned to him by degrees. 
"What ! you, Cumberledge?" he murmured, 
measuring me with his eye : "and you, 
Nurse Wade? Well, I thought you would 
manage it." There was a tone almost of 

amusement in his 
voice, a half-ironical 
tone which had 
been familiar to us 
in the old hospital 
days. He raised 
himself nn one arm 
and gazed at the 
water all round. 
Then he was silent 
for some minutes* 
At last he spoke 
again. ** 1 )o you 
know what I ought 
to do if I were con- 
sistent? " he asked, 
with a tinge of 
pathos in his words. 
hf Jump off this raft, 
and deprive you of 
your last chance of 
triumph — the tri- 
umph which you 
have worked for so 
hard. You want to 
save my life for 
your own ends, not 


Original from 



for mine. Why should I help you to my 
own undoing ? " 

Hilda's voice was tenderer and softer than 
usual as she answered, " No, not for my own 
ends alone, and not for your undoing, but to 
give you one last chance of unburdening 
your conscience. Some men are too small 
to be capable of remorse : their little souls 
have no room for such a feeling. You are 
great enough to feel it and to try to crush it 
down. But you cannot crush it down : it 
crops up in spite of you. You have tried to 
bury it in your soul, and you have failed. 
It is your remorse that has driven you to 
make so many attempts against the only 
living souls who knew and understood. If 
ever we get safely to land once more — and 
tied knows it is not likely— I give you still 
the chance of repairing the mischief you 
have done, and of clearing my father's 
memory from the cruel stain which you and 
only you can wipe away." 

Sebastian lay long, silent once more* gazing 
up at her fixedly, with the foggy, white moon- 
light shining upon his bright, inscrutable 
eyes* " You are a brave woman, Maisie 
Yorke-Bannerraan," he said, at last, slowly ; 
l( a very brave woman. I will try to live — 
I too -for a purpose of my own. I say it 
again : he that loseth his life shall gain it" 

Incredible as it may sound, in half an 
hour more he was lying fast asleep on that 
wave -tossed raft, and Hilda and I were 
watching him 
tenderly. And 
it seemed to us 
as we watched 
h i m that a 
change had 
come over those 
stern and im- 
passive fea- 
tures* They had 
softened and 
melted until his 
face was that of 
a gentler and 
better type* It 
was as if some 
inward change 
of soul was 
moulding the 
fierce old Pro- 
fessor into a 
nobler and 
more venerable 
man. Day after 
day we drifted 
on, without food 

or water. The agony was terrible : I will 
not attempt to describe it, for to do so is 
to bring it back too clearly to my memory. 
Hilda and I, being younger and stronger, 
bore up against it well ; but Sebastian, old 
and worn, and still weak from the plague, 
grew daily weaker. His pulse just beat, and 
sometimes I could hardly feel it thrill under 
my finger. He became delirious, and 
murmured much about Yorke-Bannermans 
daughter. Sometimes he forgot all, and 
spoke to me in the friendly terms of our old 
acquaintance at Nathaniel's, giving me 
directions and advice about imaginary opera- 
tions. Hour after hour we watched for a 
sail, and no sail appeared. One could hardly 
believe we could toss about so long in the 
main highway of traffic without seeing a ship 
or spying more than the smoke- trail of some 
passing steamer. 

As far as I could judge, during those days 
and nights, the wind veered from south-west 
to southeast, and carried us steadily and 
surely towards the open Atlantic. On the 
third evening out, about five o'clock, I saw 
a dark object on the horizon, Was it moving 
towards us ? We strained our eyes in breath- 
less suspense. A minute passed, and then 
another, Yes, there could be no doubt. It 
grew larger and larger: it was a ship — a 
steamer. We made all the signs of distress 
we could manage. I stood up and waved 
Hilda's white shawl frantically in the air. 


university of Michigan' 



There was half an hour of suspense, and our 
hearts sank as we thought that they were 
about to pass us. Then the steamer hove to 
a little and seemed to notice us. Next 
instant we dropped upon our knees, for we 
saw they were lowering a boat. They were 
coming to our aid. They would be in time 
to save us. 

Hilda watched our rescuers with parted 
lips and agonized eyes. Then she felt 
Sebastian's pulse. " Thank Heaven," she 
cried, " he still lives ! They will be here 
before he is quite past confession." 

Sebastian opened his eyes dreamily. " A 
boat ? " he aslced. 

" Yes, a boat ! " 

" Then you have gained your point, child. 
I am able to collect myself. Give me a few 
hours more life, and what I can do to make 
amends to you shall be done." 

I don't know why, but it seemed longer 
between the time when the boat was lowered 
and the moment when it reached us than it 
had seemed during the three days and nights 
we lay tossing about helplessly on the open 
Atlantic. There were times when we could 
hardly believe that it was really moving. At 
last, however, it reached us, antf we saw 
the kindly faces and outstretched hands 
of our rescuers. Hilda clung to Sebastian 
with a wild clasp as the men reached out 
for her. 

" No, take him first ! " she cried, when the 
sailors, after the custom of men, tried to help 
her into the gig before attempting to save us : 
" his life is worth more to me than my own. 
Take him — and for God's sake lift him 
gently, for he is nearly gone ! " 

They took him aboard, and laid him down 
in the stern. Then, and then only, Hilda 
stepped into the boat, and I staggered after 
her. The officer in charge, a kind young 
Irishman, had had the foresight to bring 
brandy and a little beef essence. We ate 
and drank what we dared as they rowed us 
back to the steamer. Sebastian lay back, 
with his white eyelashes closed over the lids, 
and the livid hue of death upon his emaci- 
ated cheeks ; but he drank a teaspoonful 
or two of brandy, and swallowed the beef 
essence with which Hilda fed him. 

" Your father is the most exhausted of the 
party," the officer said, in a low undertone. 
" Poor fellow, he is too old for such adven- 
tures. He seems to have hardly a spark of 
life left in him." 

Hilda shuddered with evident horror. 
" He is not my father — thank Heaven ! " she 
cried, leaning over him and supporting his 

Digitized by GOOgK" 

drooping head, in spite of her own fatigue 
and the cold that chilled our very bones. 
" But I think he will live. I mean him to 
live. He is my best friend now — and my 
bitterest enemy ! " 

The officer looked at her in surprise, and 
then touched his forehead, inquiringly, with 
a quick glance at me. He evidently thought 
cold and hunger had affected her reason. I 
shook my head. " It is a peculiar case," I 
whispered. " What the lady says is right. 
Everything depends for us upon our keeping 
him alive till we reach England." 

They rowed us to the steamer, and we were 
handed tenderly up the side. There, the 
ship's surgeon and everybody else on board 
did their best to restore us after our terrible 
experience. The ship was the Don, of the 
Royal Mail Steamship Company's West 
Indian line ; and nothing could exceed the 
kindness with which we were treated by 
every soul on board, from the captain to the 
stewardess and the junior cabin-boy. Sebas- 
tian's great name carried weight even here. 
As soon as it was generally understood on 
board that we had brought with us the 
famous physiologist and pathologist, the man 
whose name was famous throughout Europe, 
we might have asked for anything that the 
ship contained without fear of a refusal. But, 
indeed, Hilda's sweet face was enough in 
itself to win the interest and sympathy of all 
who saw it. 

By eleven next morning w r e were off Ply- 
mouth Sound : and by midday we had 
landed at the Mill Bay Docks, and were on 
our way to a comfortable hotel in the 

Hilda was too good a nurse to bother 
Sebastian at once about his implied promise. 
She had him put to bed, and kept him there 

" What do you think of his condition ? " 
she asked me, after the second day was 
over. I could see by her own grave face 
that she had already formed her own con- 

" He cannot recover," I answered. " His 
constitution, shattered by the plague and by 
his incessant exertions, has received too 
severe a shock in this shipwreck. He is 

" So I think. The change is but tem- 
porary. He will not last out three days 
more, I fancy." 

" He has rallied wonderfully to-day," I 
said ; " but 'tis a passing rally ; a flicker : no 
more. If you wish to do anything, now is the 
moment. If you delay, you will be too late." 




M I will go in and see him,' 5 Hilda an- 
swered. "I have said nothing more to him, 
but I think he is moved : I think he means 
to keep his promise. He has shown a 
strange tenderness to me these last few days. 
I almost believe he is at last remorseful, and 
ready to undo the evil which he has done." 


She stole softly into the sick room : I 
followed her on tip-toe, and stood near the 
door behind the screen which shot off the 
draught from the patient. Sebastian stretched 
his arms out to her. u Ah, Maine, my 
child," he cried, addressing her by the 
name she had borne in her childhood, 
" don't leave me any more. Stay with me 
always, Maisie ! I can't get on without 

" But you hated once to see me ! " 
" Because I have so wronged you." 
"And now? Will you do nothing to 
repair the wrong ? " 

" My child, I can never undo that wrong. 
It is irreparable, for the past can never be 
recalled ; but I will try my best to minimize 
it. Call Cumberledge in. I am quite sensible 
now, quite conscious. You will be my 
witness, Cumberledge, that my pulse is normal 
and that my brain is clear, I will confess it 
all. Maisie, your constancy and your firm- 
ness have conquered me, And your devotion 
to your father. If only I had had a daughter 
like you, my girl, one whom I could have 
loved and trusted, I might have been a better 

Digitized by dOOQlC 

man : I might even have done better work 
for science— though on that side at least I 
have little with which to reproach myself," 

Hilda bent over him. " Hubert and I are 

here," she said, slowly, in a strangely calm 

voice : " but that is not enough, I want a 

public, an attested, confession* It must be 

given before witnesses, and signed 

and sworn to. Somebody might 

throw doubt upon my word and 

Hubert's. 1 ' 

Sebastian shrank back* "Given 
before witnesses, and signed and 
sworn to 3 Maisie, is this humilia- 
tion necessary : do you exact 

Hilda was inexorable. "You 
know yourself how you are 
situated. You have only a day 
or two to live," she said, in an 
impressive voice, " You must 
do it at once, or never. You 
have postponed it all your life, 
Now, at this last moment, you 
must make up for it. Will you 
die with an act of injustice un- 
confessed on your conscience ? " 
He paused and struggled. " I 
could — if it were not for you," 
he answered, 

"Then do it for me," Hilda 

cried. "Do it for me: I ask 

it of you, not as a favour, but as 

a Tight. I demand it ! ;t She stood, white, 

stern, inexorable, by his couch, and laid her 

hand upon his shoulder. 

He paused once more ; then he murmured 
feebly, in a querulous tone, " What witnesses P 
Whom do you wish to be present ? " 

Hilda spoke clearly and distinctly. She 
had thought it all out with herself before- 
hand. " Such witnesses as will carry absolute 
conviction to the mind of all the world : irre- 
proachable, disinterested witnesses : official 
witnesses. In the first place, a commis- 
sioner of oaths. Then a Plymouth doctor, 
to show that you are in a fit state of mind to 
make a confession* Next, Mr, Horace 
Mayfield, who defended my father, Lastly, 
Dr. Blake Cruwfurd, who watched the case 
on your behalf at the trial/' 

"But, Hilda," I interposed, " we may pos- 
sibly find that they cannot come away from 
London just now, They are busy men, and 
likely to be engaged." 

u They will come if I pay their fees. I 
do not mind how much this costs me. What 
is money compared to this one great object 
of my life? " 




I accept her 
Fortunately j 

"And then — the delay I Suppose that 
we are too late ? " 

" He will live some days yet. I can tele- 
graph up at once. I want no hole-and- 
corner confession, which may afterwards be 
useless, but an open avowal before the most 
approved witnesses. If he will make it, well 
and good : if not, my life-work will have 
failed ; but I had rather it failed than draw 
back one inch from the course which I have 
laid down for myself," 

I looked at the worn face of Sebastian, 
He nodded his head slowly. M She has con- 
quered," he answered, turning upon the 
pillow. " Let her have her own way, I hid 
it for years, for science sake. That was my 
motive; Cumber ledge, and I am too near 
death to lie- Science has now nothing more 
to gain or lose by rue, I have served her 
well, but I am worn out in her service. 
Maisic may do as she wtlL 

We telegraphed up, at once, 
both men were disengaged, and both lteenly 
interested in the case* By that evening 
Horace Mayfield was talking it all over with 
me in the hotel at Southampton. " Well, 
Hubert, my boy," he said, "a 
woman, we know, can do a 
great deal ■ j he smiled his 
familiar smile, like a genial fat 
toad ; 4i but if your Vorke- 
Bannerman succeeds in 
getting a confession out 
of Sebastian, she'll extort 
my admiration/* He 
paused a moment, then 
he added, as an after- 
thought, "I say 
that she'll extort 
my admiration: 
but, mind you, I 
don't know that 1 
shall feel inclined 
to believe it. The 
facts have always 
appeared to me — 
strictly between 
ourselves, you know 
—to admit of only 
the one explana- 

"Wait and see," 
I answered. "You 
think it more 
likely that Miss 
Wade will have per- 
suaded Sebastian 
to confess to things 

that never happened, than that he will con- 
vince you of Yurke- Ban Herman's innocence ? " 

The great Q.C. fingered his cigarette-holder 
affectionately. "You hit it first time," he 
answered. "That is precisely my attitude. 
The evidence against our poor friend was so 
peculiarly black. It would take a great deal 
to make me disbelieve it." 

"But surely a confession ! " 

" Ah, well, let me hear the confession, and 
then I shall be better able to judge/' 

Even as he spoke Hilda had entered the 

"There will be no difficulty about that, Mr. 
Mayfield You shall hear it, and I trust that 
it will make you repent for taking so black a 
view of the case of your own client," 

11 Without prejudice* Miss Bannerman, 
without prejudice, 1 ' said the lawyer, with 
some confusion. " Our conversation is 
entirely between ourselves, and to the world 
I have always upheld that your father was an 
innocent man," 

But such distinctions are too subtle for a 
loving woman. 

11 He was an innocent man," said she, 
angrily. u It was your business not only to 




Original frorm SKE - A^ewur, 

22 2 


believe it, but to prove it. You have neither 
believed it nor proved it ; but if you will 
come upstairs with me, I will show you that 
I have done both*" 

May field glanced at me and shrugged his 
fat shoulders. Hilda had led the way, and 
we both followed her. In the room of the 
sick man our other witnesses were waiting ; 
a tall, dark, austere man, who was introduced 
to me as Dr. Blake Crawford, whose name I 
had heard as having watched the case for 
Sebastian at the time of the investigation. 
There were present also a commissioner of 
oaths, and Dr. May by, a small local prac- 
titioner, whose attitude towards the great 
scientist upon the couch was almost absurdly 
reverential. The three men were grouped at 
the foot of the bed, and May fie Id and I 
joined them- Hilda stood beside the dying 
man, and rearranged the pillow against which 

met any to match it— but I do not mind 
admitting that, for firmness and tenacity, this 
lady is my equal She was anxious that I 
should adopt one course of action. I was 
determined to adopt another. Your presence 
here is a proof that she has prevailed." 

He paused for breath, and she gave him 
another small sip of the brandy. 

"I execute her will ungrudgingly and with 
the conviction that it is the right and proper 
course for me to take/ 1 he continued. " You 
will forgive me some of the ill which I have 
done you, Maisie, when I tell you that I 
really died this morning all unknown to 
Cumberledge and you — and that nothing but 
my will force has sufficed to keep spirit and 
body together until I should carry out your 
will in the manner which you suggested, I 
shall be glad when I have finished, for the 
effort is a painful one, and I loiig for the 


he was propped Then she held some 
brandy to his lips. " Now ! " said she. 

The stimulant brought a shade of colour 
into his ghastly cheeks, and the old quick, 
intelligent gleam came back into his deep- 
sunk eyes. 

"A remarkable woman, gentlemen/' said 
he, "a very noteworthy woman. I had 
prided myself that my will-power was the 
most powerful in the country — I had never 

Digitized by Google 

peace of dissolution. It is now a quarter to 
seven, I have every hope that I may be able 
to leave before eight." 

It was strange to hear the perfect coolness 
with which he discussed his own approaching 
dissolution. Calm, pale, and impassive, his 
manner was that of a professor addressing 
his class. I had seen him speak so to a ring 
of dressers in live old days at Nathaniel's. 

" The circumstances which led up to the 




death of Admiral Scott Prideaux, and the 
suspicions which caused the arrest of Doctor 
Yorke-Bannerman, have never yet been fully 
explained, although they were by no means 
so profound that they might not have been 
unravelled at the time had a man of intellect 
concentrated his attention upon them. The 
police, however, were incompetent and the 
legal advisers of Dr. Bannerman hardly less 
so, and a woman only has had the wit to see 
that a gross injustice has been done. The 
true facts I will now lay before you." 

Mayfield's broad face had reddened with 
indignation, but now his curiosity drove out 
every other emotion, and he leaned forward 
with the rest of us to hear the old man's story. 

" In the first place, I must tell you that 
both Dr. Bannerman and myself were engaged 
at the time in an investigation upon the 
nature and properties of the vegetable alka- 
loids, and especially of aconitine. We hoped 
for the very greatest results from this drug, 
and we were both equally enthusiastic in our 
research. Especially, we had reason to believe 
that it might have a most successful action 
in the case of a certain rare but deadly 
disease, into the nature of which I need not 
enter. Reasoning by analogy, we were con- 
vinced that we had a certain cure for this 
particular ailment. 

"Our investigation, however, was some- 
what hampered by the fact that the condition 
in question is rare out of tropical countries, 
and that in our hospital wards we had not, at 
that time, any example of it. So serious was 
this obstacle that it seemed that we must 
leave other men more favourably situated to 
reap the benefit of our work and enjoy the 
credit of our discovery, but a curious chance 
gave us exactly what we were in search of, 
at the instant when we were about to despair. 
It was Yorke-Bannerman who came to me in 
my laboratory one day to tell me that he had 
in his private practice the very condition of 
which we were in search. 

"'The patient,' said he, 'is my uncle, 
Admiral Scott Prideaux. 1 

" ' Your uncle ! ' I cried, in amazement. 
1 But how came he to develop such a condi- 
tion ? ' 

" ' His last commission in the Navy was 
spent upon the Malabar Coast, where the 
disease is endemic. There can be no doubt 
that it has been latent in his system ever 
since, and that the irritability of temper and 
indecision of character, of which his family 
have so often had to complain, were really 
among the symptoms of his complaint.' 

" I examined the Admiral in consultation 


with my colleague, and I confirmed his 
diagnosis. But, to my surprise, Yorke-Ban- 
nerman showed the most invincible and 
reprehensible objection to experiment upon 
his relative. In vain I assured him that 
he must place his duty to science high above 
all other considerations. It was only after 
great pressure that I could persuade him to 
add an infinitesimal portion of aconitine to 
his prescriptions. The drug was a deadly 
one, he said, and the toxic dose was still to 
be determined. He could not push it in the 
case of a relative who trusted himself to his 
care. I tried to shake him in what I regarded 
as his absurd squeamishness — but in vain. 

" But I had another resource. Banner- 
man's prescriptions were made up by a fellow 
named Barclay, who had been dispenser at 
Nathaniel's and afterwards set up as a chemist 
in Sackville Street. This man was absolutely 
in my power. I had discovered him at 
Nathaniel's in dishonest practices, and I 
held evidence which would have sent him to 
gaol. I held this over him now, and" I 
made him, unknown to Bannerman, increase 
the doses of aconitine in the medicine until 
they were sufficient for my experimental 
purposes. I will not enter into figures, but 
suffice it that Bannerman was giving more 
than ten times what he imagined; 

" You know the sequel. I was called in, 
and suddenly found that I had Bannerman in 
my power. There had been a very keen 
rivalry between us in science. He was the 
only man in England whose career might 
impinge upon mine. I had this supreme 
chance of putting him out of my way. He 
could not deny that he had been giving his 
uncle aconitine. I could prove that his 
uncle had died of aconitine. He could not 
himself account for the facts — he was abso- 
lutely in my power. I did not wish him to 
be condemned, Maisie. I only hoped that 
he would leave the court discredited and 
ruined. I give you my word that my 
evidence would have saved him from the 
scaffold. " 

Hilda was listening, with a set, white face. 

" Proceed ! " said she, and held out the 
brandy once more. 

" I did not give the Admiral any more 
aconitine after I had taken over the case. 
But what was already in his system was 
enough. It was evident that we had seriously 
under-estimated the lethal dose. As to your 
father, Maisie, you have done me an in- 
justice. You have always thought that I 
killed him." 

" Proceed ! " said she* 




u I speak now from the brink of the grave, 
and I tell you that I did not- His heart was 
always weak, and it broke down under the 
strain. Indirectly I was the cause — I do 
not seek to excuse anything ; but it was the 
sorrow and the shame that killed him. As to 
Barclay, the chemist, that is another matter. 
I will not deny that I was concerned in that 
mysterious disappearance, which was a seven 
days' wonder in the Press. I could not per- 
mit my scientific calm to be interrupted by 
the blackmailing visits of so insignificant a 
person. And then after many years you came, 
Maisie, You also got between me and that 
work which was life tome, You also showed 
that you would rake up this old matter and 
bring dishonour upon a name which has 

stood for something in science. You also 

but you will forgive me, I have held on to 
life for your sake as an atonement for my 
sins. Now, 1 go! Cumberledge — your note- 
book. Subjective sensations, swimming in 
the head, light flashes before the eyes, sooth- 
ing torpor, some touch of coldness, constric- 
tion of the temples, humming in the ears, a 
sense of sinking — sinking— sinking ! * J 

It was an hour later, and Hilda and 1 
were alone in the chamber of death, As 
Sebastian lay 
there, a marble 
figure, , with his 
keen eyes closed 
and his pinched, 
thin face whiter 
and serener than 
ever, I could 
not help gazing 
at him with 
some pangs of 

recollection. I could not avoid recalling the 
time when his very name was to me a word 
of power, and when the thought of hiiti 
roused on my cheek a red flush of enthusiasm. 
As I looked I murmured two lines from 
Brownings "Grammarian's Funeral":— 

ThU is our M osier, famous, calm, and dead. 

Borne on our shoulders* 

Hilda Wade, standing beside me, with an 
awestruck air, added a stanza from the same 
great poem : — 

Lofty designs must close in like effects : 

Loftily lying, 
Leave him — si ill loftier than the world suspects, 
Living and dying. 

I gazed at her with admiration, " And it 
is you > Hilda, who pay him this generous 
tribute ! " I cried. " Y&u t of all women ! w 

" Yes, it is I* she answered. *' He was a 
great man, after all, Hubert. Not good, but 
great. And greatness by itself extorts our 
unwilling homage." 

II Hilda," I cried, "you are a great woman. 
And a good woman, too, It makes me proud 
to think you will soon be my wife. For there 
Is now no longer any just cause or impedi- 

Eeside the dead master, she laid her 
hand solemnly and r.ilmly in mine. " No 

impedi ment," 
she answered. 
" I have vindi- 
c a t e d and 
cleared my 
father's memory. 
And now, I can 
live* * Actual 
life comes next.' 
We have much 
to do, Hubert," 


by Google 

Original from 

A Wonderful Rock Garden, 

By Hzrbert Pratt. 


Iff. & fiarrett. 

E A HERS of Thk Strand 
Magazink are more or less 
familiar with that peculiar form 
of gardening which goes by 
the name of topiary work. 
The illustrations of the gardens 
at Levens Hall and Klvaston, with their 
curiously cut trees, which appeared some time 
since, as well as the pictures of the hedge - 
work of a Continental railway servant pub- 
lished more recently, provoked so much 
interest that it is thought our readers will be 
no less interested in another and different 
form of garden craft. It will he readily 
understood that, as in other fields of 
labour, so in the art of gardening, from 
time to time departures are made from 
the beaten track by ardent gardeners ; but 
it is open to question whether any other 
garden the world over contains features of 
such peculiar interest as the one that for 
more than half a century has been the loving 
care of Sir Charles Isham, Bart. 

Lamport Hall, the residence for nearly four 
centuries of the Isham family, and which lies 
between Northampton and Market Har- 
borough, possesses many features of interest, 
amongst which the unique rockery contained 
within its borders is not the least attractive, 
and to this in particular the writer would 

Vol. v iv 29 


draw attention. The word " unique u has been 
used, but this is incorrect, in so far as it is not 
the only rock garden in existence, a$ many 
a mi bur ban cinder or clinker heap, covered 
with struggling vegetation, and dignified 
by the name of rockery, would testify. 
But the word may be allowed to stand, for 
probably nothing to be compared with the 
rockery at I import can be found the world 
over, The only other place that in any way 
bears a likeness to Sir Charles I sham's 
curious production is in Austria, and was 
made by the Emperor's grrdener, but expert 
testimony says that it is far inferior to the 
Northampton rockery. 

It was some fifty two years ago that the 
idea of forming a dwarf rock garden was 
conceived, and through the years that have 
followed its owner has striven to realize 
certain ideals. To describe them in brief, it 
may be said that the Lamport rockery 
contains mountain scenery in miniature. To 
use the words of its constructor, "It is 
an assemblage of small caves, crevices, 
excavations, and inequalities, carpeted and 
incrusted with vegetation suited to the 
purpose." Practically in these last four 
words the difficulties of the situation are 
summed up, and from this high aim arose 
many needs that would not have sprung 




into existence had a lesser ideal been present 
in Sir Charles I sham's mind. The rockery 
is placed close to the house, and is about 
30yds. long by 14yds. wide, whilst in height 
it measures 8yds. On the side opposite to 
the house ns well ns on one of the narrow 

do not exceed 3ft in height Some of them 
are of great age, and their collection has 
necessarily entailed a vast amount of trouble. 
No plant that in its natural state would grow 
quickly was ever a favourite at l.amport, 
and with those that showed signs of quick 

jfrVopii ht Phitta. by] 


l(r. A {jarrtlt, 

sides it is shut in by a high, ivy-covered wall 
On the opposite narrow side a conservatory 
again confines the area. Indeed, so small is 
the space occupied that until the visitor 
almost enters the gate that leads to the 
rockery he fails to realize its existence. 
The relation of the rockery to the house 
will be appreciated by a glance at the first 
picture. The ivy covered wall on the right- 
hand side is the back of the rockery. 

It will be seen, therefore, that it was with 
no small difficulty that the accompanying 
pictures were taken. It is in consequence 
of these photographic difficulties that Sir 
Charles I sham, who can be seen in the 
accompanying illustration seated on the 
rockery, appears to be so small in size. In 
reality he is but 10yds. distant from the 
camera, although it seems as though he were 
at least itfoyds, away. It is not altogether 
an easy matter to convey a true idea of the 
s mall n ess of the Lamport rockery except by 
the miniature size of the vegetation. The 
largest firs and cedars grown on the rockery 


growth steps were taken to retard their 
progress, with the result mentioned. 

Frequently, as is well known, the advanc- 
ing age of tree life means that it must 
support other forms of vegetation^ and the 
sight of a creeper-clad trunk in a forest 
ramble is amongst the most artistic ; but it is 
equally well known that the clinging ivy 
sooner or later spells death to the supporting 
tree. At Lamport, not to be foreign to the 
natural Sir Charles Isham has obtained and 
planted certain miniature ivies which the 
venerable conifers— some 3ft. high ! — are 
compelled to support. This much should 
be said though : they have not been per- 
mitted to run at will, and therefore, if the 
same attention is given as in the past, are 
not likely to bring to the ground the trees by 
which they are upheld* 

Here it may be mentioned that the method 
of planting is curious, if not absolutely 
unique. When Sir Charles wished to obtain 
a certain effect he would take a stone and 
either place it in pos;i ft Jon himself or give 




instructions for this to be done in his pre- 
sence^ for every part of the structure has 
been put together either by or under the 
immediate supervision of the owner. He 
would, however, first chisel a small hole 
through the stone — often over a foot in 
depth— and fill the hole with soilj so that 
the roots of the plant, when inserted, could 
reach and obtain nourishment from the 
proper earth beneath. 

But the list of dwarf vegetation is by no 
means exhausted when reference has been 
made to the miniature trees that abound ; 
indeed, the rockery is full of curiosities in 

Reference might be made to many other 
interesting plants, but different features of 
this curious rockery call for mention. 
Amongst these a number of crystal caves 
formed of quartz, and which sparkle with 
dazzling effect when the sun's rays light upon 
them, are to be found in one corner. But 
perhaps more than anything else the visitor 
will carry away the. remembrance of the 
fairy or gnome like figures which people 
the sides of the rockery or peep from the 
miniature caves. One seems in looking upon 
them much like a Gulliver amongst the 
Liliputians, and a recollection of the Weird- 

est** a Phtiti. by] 

the way of plant life. Numerous Alpine 
plants, procured with much trouble and at 
great expense, clothe the stones and show 
themselves through the crevices. One plant, 
the Agave Utahensis, is fifteen years old, 
and measures but 5in. in height It is a very 
rare specimen of the only hardy American 
aloe, and is surrounded by variegated dog- 
wood, which adds greatly to the effect. 
Another plant that spreads itself over a great 
part of the rockery is shown in the picture in 
which the miniature trees stand out in 
contrast. It is the Spider house-leek, whose 
silvery tones are delightfully pleasing, 

[G. & Garrett. 

ness of the scene leads one almost to wonder 
whether the figures are not the creation of 
an imaginative fancy. Look at the reality of 
the picture, " On Strike," and consider the 
labour involved in the production of figures 
that so closely harmonize one with another 
and produce a life-like effect, which was first 
conceived by the constructor and afterwards 
worked out with such skilful care. The 
notice board bearing the inscription : — 

Eight hours' sl^cp, 
Kight hours' play, 
Ek'ht hours' work, 




serves to emphasize the 
Trade Union spirit It 
seems that the only 
person wanted to com- 
plete the scene is the 
paid agitator, unless the 
little gentleman on the 
upper ledge, who is 
dignified by the pos- 
session of a hat as com- 
pared with the caps of 
the minerSj may be 
considered as such. 

These figures measure 
from two and a half to 
three inches in height, 
and were necessarily 
extremely difficult to 
photograph. Mr. G, S. 
Garrett, by whom the 
pictures were taken, and 
to whom the writer is 
desirous of expressing 
his best thanks, has 
succeeded excellently 
well in his difficult 
task. He was obliged 
ts> use a box, and in 
some cases a stone* 

Prain n I'kiAa. hv 

A I hoKK AGAli. 

\t;. .S\ f,a)rftt, 

From a Photo, bvl 



Original from 

[Q. £, Vamtt, 



instead of a camera stand. His lens was 
placed within a few inches of the figures, 
and his trouble was to photograph the gnomes 
without actually enlarging them. In a different 
part of the rockery is depicted another mining 
scene — a set of miners, whose demands have 
evidently been satisfied, and we see some of 

fVMN G Photo, bf] 


them at work with pick and shovel, others 
wheeling barrows or climbing ladders, whilst 
others sit and smoke the pipe of peace— or 
laziness. In still another part of the rockery 
are a number of miners loaded with chains, 
and who, apparently, have task- masters set 

over them. Let us hope they exact a full 
day's work. It is when one comes to criticise 
the individual figures that the originality of 
the owner of Lamport is seen. Beneath 
many of the gnomes poetic descriptions have 
been placed. One of these inscriptions, 
which is written upon a piece of paper about 

the size of an ordi- 
nary private envelope, 
reads : — 

Under a saxifrage, bcami- 

ful home ! 
There peaceful 1 )' rests W 

diminutive gnome* 
J lis food is pure nectar 

contained in a jogs 
Can any kin J friend fine] 

a suitable mug? 
lie dwells inlhisjiaradise 

mostly alone, 
With occasional calls of a 

l>ig drumljedronc. 
TIil- saxifrage, tufty and 

perfectly grown. 
May compare with a gem 
in a setting of stune. 

Like many another 
owner who occasion- 
ally allows the public 
to share in the plea- 
sures of his private 
possessions, Sir 
('harks I sham seems 
in have had some 
troublesome visitors 
when he composed 
the inscription that 
appears in another 
illustration : — 

I laving heard of his fame* 

many visitors come 
To judge for themselves 

of his wonderful home. 
Just now there are iwo, 

E Je's loo kjud to com- 

Vet he doubtless alone 

would prefer to re- 
The one is all active, the 

01 her looks on, 
Whilst owner is wishing 

thorn Ixith lo 1m: gnne. 
If Longnose don't mind, 

with his lumbering 

He'll soon come to grief* 

Now what could be 

sadder ? 

These figures are also 3m. high, and their 
fairy-like proportions, combined with their 
surroundings of dwarf trees and miniature 
caves, compel one to imagine himself in 
another world. 

One figure \\m graces the rockery, and a 


,( r > tiuintt 



painstaking constructor of the 
unique rockery at Lamport 
should be reproduced. It shows 
Sir Charles Isham standing 
beside one of the box bowers 
that form another feature of 
interest at I import. They were 
planted nearly a century and a 
half ago by Sir Edmund I sham, 
and with the curiously trained 
yew trees, and particularly the 
rock garden, make Lamport one 
of the most interesting places 
in England. But the venerable 
builder will not allow that his 
work is accomplished, and indi- 
cates that the difficulties which 
beset the man who would imi- 
tate him are enormous. To 
use his own words, i( The con- 
structor of the Lamport rockery, 
being advanced in years and 
being still a learner in the art 
of rock gardening, is conscious 
that what has entailed a period 
of fifty years of almost daily 
employment could not he main- 
tained in any approach to its 
integrity by a new hand." 

photograph of which is shown on 
this page, in comparison with the 
gnomes is as a giantess amongst the 
pigmies. The contrast is so great 
that one's" attention is immediately 
arrested, and frequently at a slight 
distance the impression given is 
that it is of a living child. The 
figure was first exposed to public 
gaze in the Brussels exhibition, from 
whence it found its way into the 
shop or a London curio dealer, only 
to be rescued by Sir Charles Isham 
to adorn his rockery, Since that 
time the young lady has been pre- 
sented with a gorgeous hat and a 
dinmnnd ring by two interested 
visitors, and in the picture she may 
be seen wearing both. 

In conclusion, it is only appro- 
priate that a photograph of the 

l*rom a Fhcto. bpj 







AVE another 
cup— do! " said 
Miss Arnott. 
"Don't go yet 9 
this is the 
nicest time to talk, and I 
won't light the lamp." 

" But I'm paying you such 
an unconscionable visit," 
murmured Muriel, softly t as 
she half guiltily pushed up 
her cup for some more of that delirious tea 
which nobody ever made quite like Angela 

The cup was refilled in a sacred silence, 
and, when it had been tasted, the hostess 
murmured, musingly : — 

"Well, Muriel, I have thought over what 
you say, and I tell you again, you are wrong, 
and you will find it so." 

The girl, who sat in the firelight, absently 
playing with her tea-spoon, was a pretty girl, 
well dressed, and prosperous looking, Her 
face was full of capability and eagerness. 
The woman who was entertaining her was 
five-and thirty last birthday. She had never 
been pretty, hut she was very pleasant- 
looking, although her crisply waving hair 
was streaked with grey. Her dress was 
simple, and the tiny room they occupied was 
otu- of tlie three which she possessed in 
a block of flats for poor ladies. Ft was the 
room of a cultivated woman— rich only in 
books ; the big, untidy writing-table, with its 
bulging pigeon-holes, showed her to be of a 
literary turn of mind. 

" The idea that marriage is a woman's only- 
career is quite exploded," she said. " Look 
at me : I am neither married, nor pretty, nor 
even well off, but I am quite happy, and 
have never wanted for friends/' 

" Ah, but you have more strength of mind 
than I," said Muriel. "I don't think that I 
could be happy in your place, Angela. For- 
give me for the candid confession." 

Angela looked pityingly at the pretty pro- 
file, which the flames now lit up, and now 
eclipsed, "That feeling soon goes off," she 
said, in a low voice. 

By G. M. Robins. 

by Google 

" What feeling?" 
"The desire that 
we are all born 
with, we women, 
to be a queen, if 
only to somebody 
who lives in a 
thirty- pound villa 
in the suburbs/' 

" To be really 
first with some- 
one," softly replied Muriel, who spoke in 
hushed tones, as though the subject were 
sacred. " To find one's mate, it seems a 
natural craving ; you say it goes off? " 

"Oh, yes; rather scornfully. 4i You soon 
find that there are so many other forms of 
happiness in the world, of a much more 
durable kind." 
"Such as?" 

"Oh, well, such as a vocation — a career." 
Muriel laughed. "That won't do for me, 
Angela. It is not given to us all to be sub* 
editors of a scientific journal I am just 
one of the common herd, and though I 
could manage the thirty -pound villa very 
well, I should do so for the love of the man 
that dwelt there with me, and no such 
motive could inspire one with regard to 
editing a paper" 

11 There ! I catch you out of your own 
mouth," cried Angela. "What if you did 
not love the person who shared the villa with 
you ? n 

Muriel put down her cup reflectively. 
" No doubt the thirty-pound villa wants 
more love than the May (air mansion," she 
said, smiling- " But it is not quite a step of 
that kind that I am contemplating," 

"No, the man is well off," said Angela, 
musing. " But still, you admit that you do 
not love him." 

" No ; but then I don't love anybody else, 
and never have. I sometimes think that we 
modern women are too selfish to love any- 
body properly. We are so much on the 
look-out for our own happiness that we 
usually overlook the man's side of the bar- 
gain. Why should fit expect to have a 


2 3 3 


faultless man made for me ? Frn anything 
but faultless myself," 

" Oh, dear me, Muriel, how can you be so 
degraded?" cried Angela, in real disgust 
" Why, child, your life is your own to do 
the best you can with— why are you to be 
content with less than the best? It is better 
to go without altogether than to accept such 
a miserable compromise/' 

" Well," said the girl, after a minute's 
silence, "you said there were so many forms 
of happiness in the world other than love ; 
you have only mentioned one, and that's not 
open to me ; tell me another. I assure you 
that I don't want to put up with inferiority if 
there seems any reasonable chance of any- 
thing better." 

" Well .... then there's friendship." 

Angela's voice softened as she said it> and 
her sweet grey eyes looked so tenderly into 
the fire that anyone at that moment would 
have called her beautiful. 

" H'm ! Friendship!* 9 echoed Muriel, 
rather as if the word 
tasted insipid. "One 
could not expect any- 
body to be friends with 
oneself exclusively." 

"Mercy, no! But 
there must always be a 
best friend* you know. 
Every woman is some- 
body's best friend." 

" Vou are my best 
friend, Angela, though 
I don't believe you are 
giving me good advice 
this evening ; but I 
don't see exactly how 
I could make a voca- 
tion of you." 

There was a little 
silence ; then Angela 
spoke, in a low, happy 
voice. " Why should 
I make a secret of it ? " 
she said. *■ The friend- 
ship which has been so 
much to me all my 
life, that I have never 
felt the want of home 
or husband, is the 
friendship of the Pro- 
fessor." Her sweet face was radiant in the 
fire-light, with a light of which she was 
absolutely unconscious. " From the day on 
which 1 first called upon him, with my little 
list of personal notes of observation of 
Nature— and he printed them in The Student '; 

Digitized by ViOO^K' 



to this day when I am sub-editor, and 
practically in charge of the whole journal 
under him — he has never failed me, There 
is a steadiness, an absence of fever and 
excitement about that friendship, which no 
marriage would ever give. Passion cools, 
but friendship grows ever warmer and more 

Muriel looked up swiftly into the face of 
the elder woman — a quick look of consterna- 
tion and pity. In that moment she felt 
herself the older and the more experienced. 
She hesitated a moment To her it seemed 
incredible that a woman should he so 
ignorant of the nature of her own feelings. 
Should she speak, or be silent ? To speak 
would give pain now, but on the whole it 
might be kinder in the long run, 

" Butj Angela," she faltered, " so many 
things might interrupt such a friendship. 
The Professor might marry." 

Angela's face changed, Put her voice 
when she replied was confident, and still rang 
with that pathetic note of 

" I don't think he is likely 
to marry now ; he is quite 

Muriel turned round; she 
was sitting at her 
friend's feet, and she 
laid her hands across 
her knees, '* Angela, 
darling, I hope it 
would not make any 
difference to you if he 
did? Your whole fabric 
of happiness does not 
rest on him, does it ?' J 
Angela paused a 
moment. " Oh, no," 
she said then, "of 
course not; of course 
not, Muriel," Her tone 
was vaguely appre- 
hensive. " Have you 
, , , , heard anything 
, . . . that leads you 
to suppose ,...?" 
she asked, not very 

There was a silence 
in the little room which 
Angela called home. It seemed to Muriel 
as if everything in it was listening breath- 
less for her next words, and was in secret 
sympathy with its mistress. 

She was in a real difficulty. For years she 
had known and loved Angela Arnott — had 




come to her — as to-day — for advice — which 
she never took ; for years she had suspected 
that Angela was in love with the Professor, 
without knowing it. But Angela had never 
said so; and she was so dignified, so 
reserved, that it was not easy to guess what 
she felt. 

She had come to the little flat that day in 
some doubt, for she had heard news which 
she thought would trouble her friend. But 
Angela had seemed just as usual ; and Muriel 
wondered. But now it seemed that Angela 
did not know this news which Muriel had 
known for several days ; and it was strange, 
for Angela saw the Professor constantly. 

"When did you see him last, Angie?" 
she asked, feeling that her hesitation and 
confusion were visible. 

"I have not seen him for — some days," 
said Angela, and the girl could hear the 
tension in her voice as she added, with 
elaborate carelessness: "Has anything hap- 
pened to him ? " 

"Oh, he has gone out of town. But I 
suppose you knew that Father does his 
business for him, you know, and he came in 
just before he started. Father brought him 
up to have some tea in the drawing-room, 
and " 


"Well, he didn't say it was a secret," 
blurted out Muriel, desperately, " so I sup- 
pose anybody may know it — he said he was 
going to be married." 

The kettle was good enough to boil over 
at this juncture ; and as Muriel bent over to 
snatch it from the fire the bell of the little 
flat tinkled, and its mistress rose. 

" A visitor," she said, impatiently. " I 
must light the lamp, Muriel." 

" Let me do it," said the girl, " while you 
go to the door." 

She took the matches from ice-cold fingers, 
and lit the lamp with eyes blurred with tears. 

" He has not dared to tell her," she 
thought ; " he is keeping away. What a 
wretch I feel ; but anything was better than 
to let her hear it from him for the first 

Angela came back in a moment, ushering 
in a voluble little lady who lived in the flat 
below, and was sure to stay three-quarters of 
an hour ; and Muriel, after a few minutes, 
took her leave, knowing that there was no 
chance of any more talk, but cut to the 
heart by the glimpse she had of Miss Arnott's 
changed face. 

Three hours later Angela sat alone, in the 
Vol. xix— 30 IV V-T 

familiar room, staring at the ruins of her life. 
The fire had gone out : she did not notice 
it; the unwashed tea-things mutely re- 
proached the mistress who hated untidiness. 

She sat so still that her Angora cat looked 
anxiously into her white face. And, in that 
stillness, she told herself the truth at last. 

She was, after all, a mere woman, in 
nowise superior to the rest of her sex : for 
fifteen years she had been in love, and she 
had not known it until to-night. 

She had not known it until it was too 
late : until the light of her lonely life had 
been taken away from her. By the pain that 
tore at her heartstrings, she knew that it was 
love, not friendship, this fire which for fifteen 
years had warmed and illumined her hard 

Was the news true ? Yes ; she knew it. 
He had told Muriel's mother, there could 
be no mistake about that ; and there was 
another even more fatal sign : he had not 
been to see her for a week. Never, for the 
last ten years, since their friendship grew 
into such a solid thing, had she passed a 
week without seeing him, except when he 
had gone into Germany to visit his relations. 
But now it was all changed. 

She looked at the big, shabby wicker- 
chair which had so often supported his 
capacious form; she looked at the photo, 
of his strong, ugly face, in its carved frame 
over the mantelpiece. He was going to be 
married. How often he had told her that he 
could not afford to marry. 

She had no tears ; tears were for when the 
emotions were stirred : this was a splitting of 
the very bed-rock of being. Weeping seemed 
an impossibility. 

And, as she sat alone, while the clock 
pointed to nine, and she had had no supper, 
there sounded at the outer door the tap she 
knew so well. He had come ... he had 
come at last ... to tell her ! 

Silently, with parched lips, she thanked 
Muriel, who had warned her. She was 
strong to meet him, and she could hear what 
he had to tell without letting him guess her 
pitiful secret. 

That false sense of degradation which a 
woman feels who loves without return over- 
whelmed her as she went to the door and let 
him in. 

" Ah ! Mein Engel ! You haf nobody 
with you ? That is goot ! I must, first of 
all, say how it comes that I leave you so 
long without a word. You haf wonder where 
I haf been ? Eh ? " 

"Yes," said Angeui* quietly, as she fol- 


2 34 


lowed him into the untidy, comfortless room, 
" I have wondered at not seeing you." 

" Ah ! " he chuckled, in a tone of satisfac- 
tion, "I haf news for you, Engelein — 


She stood up straight in front of him, her 
large eyes fixed on his face ; she looked very 
white and frail. "I know your news . . . * 
I have heard* I « ■ * . congratulate you, 
from the bottom of my heart." 

" Ah ! " he looked * half-disappointed, " I 
had rather myself haf told you ; but no 
matter, I had to go down to the country ; 
it was so sudden, I just pencil you a note to 
say I go ; and like the old fool I am, I leave 
dat note on my table, and find it when I 
come back to-night* Here it Is, in proof 
that I tell you the truth." 

She took ihe little note from him, and laid 
it down on the table behind her without 
opening it. " You have always told me the 

4i Ach, no, Engel, not always* The truth 
between you and me might have spoiled our 
so beautiful friendship," he tenderly said ; 
and every pulse in the woman's body seemed 
to start into anguish at the words. Oh, had 
he treated her fairly? Should he not have 
told her* have let her know that she was only 
second best ? 

" Well," she said, bravely, "it is pleasant to 
hear you call our friendship beautiful, now 
that tt must end*" 

" Yes," he said, and a shadow 
fell upon his face. " It must end 
now. Are you afraid that you will 
miss it, Engel ? But is not that a 
woman's fear, that friendship must 
be killed when one feels the stronger 
passion? I should like to think that 
it will not end only enter u[>on a 
new stage." 

She turned away, with a laugh 
ill at trembled on the very edge of 
those tears *she had thought so im- 
possible ; and the boundless selfish- 
ness of man struck her with a fiery 
[>ang* She felt that to stand there 
facing him a minute longer was not 
possible* She began to pile together 
the dirty tea-things, with quick, deft 
touches, saying, as she did so : — 

"Sit down, in your own chair — 
for the last time, I suppose ! " l¥\* 

"Yes/' he answered, thoughtfully, 
as he sat down heavily, " I shall 
miss this little room ; I have had 
some most happy hours here ; but 
\i would not dc; nnw, would it?" I " 


w No," said the woman, softly; "it would 
not do now*' 1 

She carried away the tea-things into the 
minute kitchen and came back with some 
wood. Kneeling before the black grate, she 
began to arrange the fuel, and her occupation 
gave her courage to say, in a voice not too 
hopelessly unlike her own ; — 

"You have not told me to whom you owe 
this — this - good f or tu n e- I m ean — w ho i s — 
the— lady?" 

"Ah," he said ; " I told you in the note — 
the note that never reached you. It is old 
Mrs, Woodsome, the rich old lady of whom 
I so often speak to you*" 

Angela was almost paralyzed with astonish- 
ment* Good heavens ! The man was 
simply despicable ! She repeated after him, 
as if she were stupefied : "Mrs. Woodsome ! " 

"Yes*" The Professor settled himself in 
his chair, and, leaning hack, stared up at 
the ceiling with a smile, as at some very 
pleasant remembrance, "Old Mrs. Wood- 
some was always very fond of me," he said, 
with a voice of triumph* " But I did not 
think no 7 Engel* I did not think that her 
partiality would go to such an extent ! " 

Her fingers trembled as she arranged the 
fuel and struck a light. She had a curious 
feeling that it was a little funeral pile to 
which she put the match — a suttee, For 
she was, after all, not a superior person, but 

HER FtKtiKR* ^^^^^^G^HlPlfkffllW^E^ THE FUEL.* 




only just the merest woman, who had staked 
her all upon one man - and lost it ! For he 
was just — contemptible ! 

'* But you are silent, Engel," he vehemently 
said, leaning forward in his chair, with a 
beaming face, "You haf congratulate me, 
but so formal " — he looked wistfully at her, 
(l Haf you noting more to say to me— 
noting more a bo lit this great news, that 
means so much to you and me ? " 

So much ! Ah, yes, it did mean much to 
her : and she had so little ! In the bleak 
world she had kept one faith — her faith in 
this man, and he was going to marry a rich 
old woman for her money ; and sat thy re 
exulting over it in his simple way. 

Angela rose from her hearthrug, and stood 
before him, wiping her blackened fingers on 
a duster. 

" You tell me that 
you have not always 
kept the truth for 
me/' she said, " but 
I have always said 
to you exactly what 
I meant, and now 
to-night, for the last 
time, I am going to 
use my privilege. 
How can I congratu- 
late you ? What can 
you expect me to 
say ? You know me 
better than to sup- 
pose that I could 
approve!" she 
almost choked, 
But, no ! No ! 
W hat ever happened, 
she vowed to her- 
self that she would 
not break down. She 
dropped into a chair, for she was shaking. 

He looked at her with a sudden fear. 
" Engel ! " he said, sharply, "surely I haf not 
made a mistake ? n 

He rose from his chair, and came to where 
she sat. Stooping down, he took her hand in 
his, held it, and patted it In all their 
previous intercourse he had never offered 
her the merest semblance of a caress ; now, 
to-night— had his degradation caused him so 
to deteriorate already ? 

She drew her hand away. " You must be 
the only judge of whether you have made a 
mistake," she replied, u Except as a friend, 
it is no concern of mine, of course. It con- 
cerns Mrs, Woodsome. If she approves— 

"She did approve," he broke in, gently. 


11 She knew of my intention, I told her 
before she died" 

Angela bounded from her seat, " Before 
she died I . . , . Is she dead? " 

He stared at her. " Engel, you haf been 
over- working in my absence," he said, 
severely* li What do you mean ? You say 
you know my news — that the kind, old, rich 
lady haf died and left me all her fortune, and 
now you start up and cry, * Is she dead ? * as 
though you know noting of it before," 

" It was not that — not that I heard," she 
could hardly speak— u it was that you were 
going to be married." 

" And so I thought I was," he gravely 
answered; tf and so I am if Engel will take 
me ; but I seem to have offended her." 
Angela stood motionless, staring at him as 
if he were an appari- 

" Mein Engel," 
said the big man, 
tenderly, "to haf 
spoken to you of 
love, while I was too 
poor to become your 
husband) that was 
not to me a right 
thing* Now I am 
thankful that I was 
always able to act 
the part of the old, 
safe friend. But, 
Angela, I haf been 
your lover for fifteen 
years, and I do not 
think you haf suf- 
fered. That was what 
I aimed at— to save 
you suffering ; of 
what it cost me now 
and then we will not 
speak* But it cannot be that I haf loved you 
so long for you to insult me by supposing that 
I would marry the rich old woman ? " He 
held her cold hands in his. " After all, it is 
my fault," he said. t£ I am the old blunderer 
who never sent the letter. It was to tell you 
that she was dying, and had sent for me, and 
that when I came back it would be to tell 
you some good news. Now, if you can put 
up with the old Professor, pack up your 
things, mem liebchen, and say * good-bye' 
to the little flat. We haf been happy here, 
Engel, but we will be happier in our own 
home together for all our future. Nein, nein. 
beloved, you must not weep ; you must 
smile ! Because our friendship is to endure 
for ever 0riginal from 



I We shall he glad l& receipt Contributions to this section, and to pay for suck as art accepted ] 

The photographs below are reproductions 
of real stamps, wilh portraits of friends intro- 
duced in place of the usual or official heart. 
The great feature of the work lies in the fact 
that the stamp itself affords the negative, 
and that no dark room or camera is required. 
Directions ; Place a postage stamp face down- 
wards on a piece of sensitive printing paper, 
slightly larger than the stamp, behind a plain 
glass in ihe printing frame. This will be 
found to give a negative of the stamp, the 
light penetrating through it exactly as through 
a glass negative. Tone and fix this print in 
the usual way. Next paste on the face of this 
photograph a thin piece of black paper the 
shape of the part to l>e hidden, or black out 
Ihe space with ink. To make the positive 
reproduce this negative, again face down- 
wards, on a second piece of printing paper. 
This gives a picture of the stamp with a white 
patch in the centre. Next take a piece of black 
paper, in which a hole has been previously cut, the 
exact shape of this patch, and fasten the positive stamp 

by strips of gummed paper behind it, so that now 

Major is a careless, happy-go-lucky, do- not -scratch - 
njc- the- wrong- way- up sort of dog. In familiar 
parlance, there are no flies on Major. 
At the same lime Major is as good as a 
timepiece* He knows when dinner-time 
comes numd, and strikes out for home in a 
bee-line. Look at him, caught in the act of 
jumping his master's front gate. It is a 
splendid bit of jumping, even for a deer- 
hound, Mr, Alan C Ewart is the proud 
owner of this clever dog* 

Here is a. splendid prescription, and the 
way to take it is fully shown in this extra- 
ordinary photograph. When the roads are 
wet and miserable, ami when the east wind 
threatens to freeze your toes and fingers, the 
l*est way to keep in training for the track is 
to do as these enthusiasts did, and you will 
never go out of form. Mr, L* J- Jessop, 
Effingham House, Strand* W+C, sends this 
curious photograph. 

only the white patch 
can be exposed to the 
light. Finally, take any 
photographic plate of 
a group of friends, and 
select a head to fit the 
patch, looking through 
the plate on the stamp 
to adjust it exactly. 
Print in this, and fix 
as usual The stamp 
can still lie improved 
by punching holes 
round it and colouring 
it with transparent 
photo, colours. Mons. 
J. Malandain, of Fe- 
cam p f No r man dy f sen d s 
us the ph olographs and 
these instructions. 

* Copyright, i^qs, by Geo. Newnes, Limited* 




The little boys of Bristol, R,I., are 
certainly not behind the times. They . 
have seen regular and approved shutes, 
and not having any water or boat at 
their disposal, they used the only 
available material at hand, namely, 
two ladders. These are each 25ft. 
long, and are placed on a deep slant, 
and with the rungs of the ladders well 
greased the young builders can shoot 
the whole length in little more than 
a second. Mr. Chas. Perry snapped 
young Raymond Bright man, one of 
the originators of the scheme, in the 
actual act of shooting this novel shute, 

Mr* John Spears, of Corfield, B,C- t 
in sending the next photo,, gives the 
following details : "I submit for your 
curiosity department a photograph of 
what I may call a whole lump of Nature 
built in the inside of a watch-case, 
with the aid only of a naked eye and 
such tools as a penknife and a pair of 
scissors, a pin, etc. The photograph 
is not very well taken, and so does 
not give a very good idea of the 
original, which is built of wood, 
straw, pebbles, paper, moss, etc., in 
colours true to Nature. 
The bridge, which does 
not show up w r ell in the 
photograph, consists of 
forty separate pieces — 
the sills, piles, plank- 
ing, hand-rails, stays, 
etc. — and is a perfect 

facsimile of hundreds of 

small bridges to be 

found in this country. 

The fencing and step- 
ladder contain thirty- 

eight pieces of fine 

straw. There are also 

several little people to 

be discerned in the 

model. To make the 

model required the 

spare time of alwut 

three months* 

Here is one of the most charming snap-shots that 
we have seen for a long time. It represents a 
dog with a live mouse on his nose. The picture 
requires no further explanation ; it is yet another 
instance of remarkable animal friendships, such 

as were illustrated 
in The Strand 
some months ago. 
The photo, was taken 
by Mr, H. E. Barns, 
of 45 » London Road, 
West Croydon, 

This picture shows 
five million dollars* 
worth of crude and 
finished gold bricks, 
It was taken at the 
principal weighing- 
rooms in the Assay 
Office Refinery in 
Wall Street, N,Y. 
This is an unusual 
quantity to be out 
of the vaults at one 
time, and, therefore, 
against the rules to 
allow others in the 
room than the super- 
and chief weigher. 
We are indebted to 
Mr- J, H. Adams for 
our unique photo. 


2 3 8 


anllers were cut from 
bright tin , ihe legs were 
made from conductor 
pipe fitted and tacked 
to the churn, while 
butler stamps did duly 
as hoofs ; at the rear 
end of the churn was 
fastened a small file 
and wash -dish , through 
ihe top of which a hole 
was bored and a whisk 
broom inserled for a 
tail. The body was first 
covered with sacking 
of jul e stuffed wiLh fine 
curled wood shavings 
to form the hump, 
and the surface covered 
wilh frayed rope glued 
on. Mr* A. N- Dowser, 
of Angola f Iowa, 
was the constructor of 
this animal, and used 
it as a holiday adver- 
tising attraction. This 
photo, was sent by Mr, 
W. R. Tillon, Prairie 
Depot, Ohio. 

If you follow the advice you will be startled by 
the sudden apparition of a waler god's smiling face. 
This, moreover, is not a " freaky" but a genuine 
and curious case of extraordinary reflection in still 
water. The picture was taken at Wi I lough by Lake, 
a summer resort in Vermont, and the reflection is 
called locally the Devil's Face. 

The docile animal shown below is intended as 
a caricature upon a Santa Claus reindeer. This 
monstrosity was produced as follows : the body was 
made of an old-fashioned Dash churn, large end in 
front, to which was filted a small butter bowl, the 
neck and head being shaped from stove-pipe irons* 
Goggles served as eyes* spice scoops as ears, and ihe 


Here is another kind of shoot from that shown 
on Ihe previous page. The black boy so cleverly 
snap-sholled by Lukas Hitter von Dobrzauski, of 
Galicia, Austria, is taken in Ihe act of shooting the 
first Nile cataract, sitting astride on ihe log of a iree, 
It is a performance lhat requires a good deal of 
nerve and so rue ,iMlkkn.i>f i eauil i brium . 






Mr, R, Charles Fernandez, 
in sending the photograph 
which is rep rod need below, 
gives the following interest- 
ing particulars : " I send 
you herewith a photograph 
taken by an amateur snap- 
shottcr of my dog Jack, 
which, though seated on its 
hind legs with a stick in iu 
mouth, is fast asleep ! Jack 
was enjoying such a sound 
sleep in the position shown, 

This machine was invented and 
constructed by Mr. George Shcrgold, 
of New Street, Gloucester, in the 
year 1876. The front wheel is 
27m, in diameter, and the rear 
wheel jlin,, geared to 45m, The 
rims are of angle-iron, w^ith inch 
solid rubber tyres. The chain is 
of aim pilch, and the spokes %"m. 
diameter. The hubs arc of wood, 
with iron side-plates, and are actu- 
ally 01 1 -retaining, the principle being 
the same as in the latest barrel- hubs, 
which were " discovered " and put 
on the market quite recently. The 
brake, too, is quite up-to-date, 
Uin£, in fact, the direct ancestor 
the patent friction less roller which is now 
so much b vogue. It is actuated by turning 
the handles on thetr horizontal axis, thereby 
lightening a chain which causes a revolving 
drum to press against the tyre of the back 
wheel. The pedals are of the rat-trap variely, 
with a tread of ioin«, and the bicycle complete 
including the lamp, which, as will l>e seen, 
forms no unimportant feat Lire -weighs just under 
Soil), The photo, was taken by Mr, W arcing of 
Gloucester, the owner of the machine. 


it did not even know when its distant relative (the black 
dog on the left) was chained lu its collar, 11 

Mr. R. W. Maynard, of San Jo^c, California, sends 
this peculiar specimen, which can lie best described 
by giving its parts and counterparts as Follows ; Pocket 
compass, headlight \ whip, smoke stand ; roll of brass 
sheeting, boiler ; screw- lx>\, steam chest ; fancy box 
cornices, cow-catcher; 3ft rule, foot - plank ; oil-cans, 
steam and sand dome ; 75ft. tape lin^n, driving- 
wheels ; two letter-boxes, cab ; anger-bit case, coal 
truck ; brass door tracks, raits ; 2ft + carpenter's ni1es 5 
railway ties. This clever bit of work has been done 
by Mr. Charles Kankel. 


This remarkable tree 
- a photo, of which 
we reproduce, and 
w hicb was taken by 
Ltikas Ritter von 
Dobrz&uski, of Galicia, 
Austria — grows in Can- 
nosa, near (he villa of 
Count (i07/e. It Lakes 
ten persons with out- 
stretched arms to en- 
circle its trunk, and 
the circular shade is 
about sixty yards in 




Here is another interesting ejtperiment 
made by Mr, Charles RankeL, of San 
Jose, California. The various parts are 
given as : large guns in turret from 
two brass water - nozzles ; anchors from 
two screw -hooks ; floor of bridge from 
pocket rules arid brass bracket ; sides of the 
bridge or pi lot -house from wire popcorn 
baskets ; hull from two 7ft. cross-cut saws ; 
side ports for guns from brass hinges ; small 
guns from wooden lubes user! in repairing 
rubber water- hose ; masts made from pop- 
corn basket bandies ; fighting lops made 
from inverted tin mouse-traps ; smoke-stacks 
mode from two rolls brass sheeting ; air 
funnels made from water- pi pe elbows ; front 


Mr, Alan Owen, of 
San Francisco, is re- 
sponsible for the state- 
ment that the trousers 
owned by the horse 
shown here exhibit the 
defer e nee of t he an imal's 
owner to that form of 
New England modesty 
that drapes the legs of a 
pian o* The gen 1 1 e man 
in question, however, 
when approached 011 
the subject , answered 
with the monosyllable, 
*< Flies!*' 


This is not a photo. 

turret [iiadi- fujm amo! Ur.ik s.iw-lihules ami Lra>-s 
gong ; large guns made from two brass water-nozzles. 

Mr. A. G. Long*s dog is, w r e fear, a bit of a. 
masquerader. lie would make us believe that he 
is actually blessed — or otherwise — with a splendid 
pair of horns. This, however, is only a little of 
the dog's own fun. lie has appropriated a pair 
of ram's horns, which he carries about with all 
the seriousness necessary to mark the joke a huge 
success* This clever dog lives in Hay, South Wales. 

of Joseph's brethren lowering him into ihe pit, nor is 
it a party of murderers disposing of their victim. 
It is a British tourist, of his own free will and purpose 
intent on Wing lowered to kiss the Blarney Stone. 
The operation requires some nerve, but there is 
really little danger. The gentleman on the left 
foreground has just gone through the same operation ; 
you will notice he is minus jacket and vest — a very 
necessary precaution when there is money in the 
pockets. Mr. R, J. MaeDermott, of Worthing, 
sends this amusing photo, 

Jy Google 


p rtnfJ f , Original from 



(See page 250,) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xix. 

MARCH, 1900. 

No. in. 

Playing with Fire. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

q [wis? 

CANNOT pretend to say what 
occurred upon the 14th of 
April last at No. 1 7, Badderly 
Gardens. Put down in black 
and white, my surmise might 
seem too crude, too grotesque, 
for serious consideration. And yet that 
something did occur, and that it was of a 
nature which will leave its mark upon every 
one of us for the rest of our lives, is as 
certain as the unanimous testimony of five 
witnesses can make it. I will not enter into 
any argument or speculation. I will only 
give a plain statement, which will be sub- 
mitted to John Moir, Harvey Deacon, and 
Mrs. Delamere, and withheld from publica- 
tion unless they are prepared to corroborate 
every detail. I cannot obtain the sanction 
of Paul Le Due, for he appears to have left 
the country. 

It was John Moir (the well-known senior 
partner of Moir, Moir, and Sanderson) who 
had originally turned our attention to occult 
subjects. He had, like many very hard and 
practical men of business, a mystic side to 
his nature, which had led him to the exami- 
nation, and eventually to the acceptance, of 
those elusive phenomena which are grouped 
together with much that is foolish, and much 
that is fraudulent, under the common head- 
ing of spiritualism. His researches, which 
had begun with an open mind, ended un- 
happily in dogma, and "he became as positive 
and fanatical as any other bigot. He repre- 
sented in our little group the body of men 
who have turned these singular phenomena 
into a new religion. 

Mrs. Delamere, our medium, was his sister, 
the wife of Delamere, the rising sculptor. 
Our experience had shown us that to work 
on these subjects without a medium was as 
futile as for an astronomer to make observa- 
tions without a telescope. On the other 
hand, the introduction of a paid medium was 
hateful to all of us. Was it not obvious that 
he or she would feel bound to return some 

result for money received, and that the temp- 
VoL xix.— 31. 

tation to fraud would beap overpowering one? 
No phenomena could be relied upon which 
were produced at a guinea an hour. But, for- 
tunately, Moir had discovered that his sister 
was mediumistic — in other words, that she 
was a battery of that animal magnetic force 
which is the only form of energy which is 
subtle enough to be acted upon from the 
spiritual plane as well as from our own 
material one. Of course, when I say this, 
J do not mean to beg the question ; but I am 
simply indicating the theories upon which we 
were ourselves, rightly or wrongly, explaining 
what we saw. The lady came, not altogether 
with the approval of her husband, and though 
she never gave indications of any very great 
psychic force, we were able, at least, to ob- 
tain those usual phenomena of message- 
tilting which are at the same time so puerile 
and so inexplicable. Every Sunday evening 
we met in Harvey Deacon's studio at Bad- 
derly Gardens, the next house to the corner 
of Merton Park Road. 

Harvey Deacon's imaginative work in art 
would prepare anyone to find that he was an 
ardent lover of everything which was outre 
and sensational. A certain picturesqueness 
in the study of the occult had been the 
quality which had originally attracted him to 
it, but his attention was speedily arrested by 
some of those phenomena to which I have 
referred, and he was coming rapidly to 
the conclusion that what he had looked upon 
as an amusing romance and an after-dinner 
entertainment was really a very formid- 
able reality. He is a man with a remarkably 
clear and logical brain — a true descendant of 
his ancestor, the well-known Scotch professor 
— and he represented in our small circle the 
critical element, the man who has no pre- 
judices, is prepared to follow facts as far as 
he can see them, and refuses to theorize in 
advance of his data. His caution annoyed 
Moir as much as the latter's robust faith 
amused Deacon, but each in his own way 
was equally keen upon the matter. 

And I ? What am I to say that I repre- 




sented ? I was not the devotee. I was not 
the scientific critic. Perhaps the best that 
I can claim for myself is that I was the 
dilettante man about town, anxious to be in 
the swim of every fresh movement, thankful 
for any new sensation which would take me 
out of myself and open up fresh possibilities 
of existence, I am not an enthusiast myself, 
but I like the company of those who are. 
Moir's talk, which made me feel as if we had 
a private pass-key through the door of death, 
filled me with a vague contentment. The 

I am about to put upon record took place. I 
was the first of the men to arrive at the 
studio, but Mrs, Delamere was already there, 
having had afternoon tea with Mrs. Harvey 
Deacon. The two ladies and Deacon him- 
self were standing in front of an unfinished 
picture or his upon the easel. I am not an 
expert in art, and I have never professed 
to understand what Harvey Deacon meant 
by his pictures ; but I could see in this 
instance that it was all very clever and 
imaginative, fairies and animals and alle- 


soothing atmosphere of the stance with the 
darkened lights was delightful to me. In a 
word, the thing amused me, and so 1 was there. 
It was, as I have said, upon the 14th of 
April last that the very singular event which 

gorical figures of all sorts. The ladies were 
loud in their praises, and indeed the colour 
effect was a remarkable one. 

"What do you think of it, Markham? " he 




"Well, it's above me," said I. "These 
beasts — what are they ? " 

M Mythical monsters, imaginary creatures, 
heraldic emblems— a sort of weird, bizarre 
procession of them," 

" With a white horse in front ! SJ 

" It's not a horse/' said he, rather testily — 
which was surprising* for he was a very good- 
humoured fellow as a rule, and hardly ever 
took himself seriously. 

"What is it, then?" 

" Can't you see the horn in front ? It's a 
unicorn. I told you they were heraldic 
beasts. Can't you recognise one ? " 

" Very sorry, Dea- 
con," said 1, for he 
really seemed to be 

He laughed at his 
own irritation. 

"Excuse me, 
Mark ham ! " said he ; 
"the fact is that I 
have had an awfu 1 
job over the beast 
All day I have beei 
painting him in ant 1 
painting hirn out, and 
trying to imagine 
what a real live, ramp 
ing unicorn would 
look like. At last 1 
got*him, as 1 hoped 
so when you failed 
to recognise it, it took 
me on the raw." 

" Why, of course 
it's a unicorn," said I, 
for he was evidently 
dc pressed at my ob- 
tu sen ess. " I can see 
the horn quite plainly, 
but I never saw a 
unicorn except beside 
the Royal Arms, and so I never 
thought of the creature. And 
these others are griffins and cocka- 
trices, and dragons of sorts ? M 

" Yes, I had no difficulty with 
them. It was the unicorn which 
bothered me. However, there's an end of 
it until to-morrow/' He turned the picture 
round upon the easel, and we all chatted 
about other subjects, 

Moir was late that evening, and when he 
did arrive he brought with him, rather to 
our suqirise, a small, stout Frenchman, 
whom he introduced as Monsieur Paul Le 
Due, I say to our surprise, for we held a 

for we lv 

theory that any intrusion into our spiritual 
circle deranged the conditions, and introduced 
an element of suspicion. We knew that we 
could trust each other, but all our results 
were vitiated by the presence of an outsider. 
However, Moir soon reconciled us to the 
innovation* Monsieur Paul Le Due was a 
famous student of occultism, a seer, a 
medium, and a mystic. He was travelling 
in England with a letter of introduction to 
Moir from the President of the Parisian 
brothers of the Rosy Cross, What more 
natural than that he should bring him to our 
little seance, or that we should feel honoured 

by his presence ? 

He was, as I have 
said, a small, stout 
man , undistinguished 
in appearance, with a 
broad, smooth, clean- 
shaven face, remark- 
able only for a pair of 
large, brow T n, velvety 
eyes, staring vaguely 
out in front of him. 
He was well dressed, 
with the manners of 
a gentleman, and his 
curious little turns of 
English speech set 
the ladies smiling* 
Mrs. Deacon had a 
prejudice against our 
researches and left 
the room, upon which 
we lowered the lights, 
as was our custom, 
and drew T up our 
chairs to the square 
mahogany table 
which stood in the 
centre of the studio. 
The light was sub- 
dued, but sufficient 
to allow us to see 
each other quite 
plainly, I remember 
that I could even 
observe the curious, 
podgy little square- 
topped hands which the Frenchman laid 
upon the table. 

" What a fun I " said he ; " It is many 
years since I have sat in this fashion, and it 
is to me amusing* Madame is medium. 
Does madame make the trance ? " 

" Well, hardly that," said Mrs, Delamere. 
u But 1 am always conscious of extreme 
sleepinewfginal from 





" It is the first stage. Then you encourage 
it, and there comes the trance. When the 
trance comes, then out jumps your little 
spirit and in jumps another little spirit, and 
so you have direct talking or writing. You 
leave your machine to be worked by another. 
Hein ? But what have unicorns to do 
with it?" 

Harvey Deacon started in his chair. The 
Frenchman was moving his head slowly 
round and staring into the shadows which 
draped the walls. 

" What a fun ! " said he. " Always unicorns. 
Who has been thinking so hard upon a subject 
so bizarre ? " 

"This is wonderful ! " cried Deacon. "I 
have been trying to paint one all day. But 
how could you know it ? " 

" You have been thinking of them in this 

" Certainly." 

" But thoughts are things, my friend. 
When you imagine a thing you make a 
thing. You did not know it, hein ? But 
I can see your unicorns because it is not 
only with my eye that I can see." 

" Do you mean to say that I create a thing 
which has never existed by merely thinking 
of it ? " 

" But certainly. It is the fact which lies 
under all other facts. That is why an evil 
thought is also a danger." 

"They are, I suppose, upon the astral 
plane ? " said Moir. 

" Ah, well, these are but words, my friends. 
They are there — somewhere — Everywhere — 
I cannot tell myself. I see them. I could 
not touch them." 

" You could not make us see them." 

" It is to materialize them. Hold ! It is 
an experiment. But the power is wanting. 
Let us see what power we have, and then 
arrange what we shall do. May I place you 
as I should wish ? " 

" You evidently know a great deal more 
about it than we do," said Harvey Deacon ; 
"I wish that you would take complete 

"It may be that the conditions are not 
good. But we will try what w r e can do. 
"Madame will sit where she is, I next, and 
this gentleman beside me. Meester Moir 
will sit next to madame, because it is well 
to have blacks and blondes in turn. So ! 
And now with your permission I will turn 
the lights all out." 

" What is the advantage of the dark ? " I 

" Because the force with which we deal is 

a vibration of ether and so also is light. We 
have the wires all for ourselves now — hein ? 
You will not be frightened in the darkness, 
madame ? What a fun is such a stance ! " 

At first the darkness appeared to be 
absolutely pitchy, but in a few minutes our 
eyes became so far accustomed to it that we 
could just make out each other's presence — 
very dimly and vaguely, it is true. I could 
see nothing else in the room — only the black 
loom of the motionless figures. We were all 
taking the matter much more seriously than 
we had ever done before. 

" You will place your hands in front. It 
is hopeless that we touch, since we are so 
few round so large a table. You will com- 
pose yourself, madame, and if sleep should 
come to you you will not fight against it. 
And now we sit in silence and we expect 
- — hein?" 

v So we sat in silence and expected, staring 
out into the blackness in front of us. A 
clock ticked in the passage. A dog barked 
intermittently far way. Once or twice a cab 
rattled past in the street, and the gleam of 
its lamps through the chink in the curtains 
was a cheerful break in that gloomy vigil. I 
felt those physical symptoms with which 
previous stances had made me familiar — the 
coldness of the feet, the tingling in the 
hands, the glow of the palms, the feeling 
of a cold wind upon the back. Strange 
little shooting pains came in my forearms, 
especially as it seemed to me in my left one, 
which was nearest to our visitor — due no 
doubt to disturbance of the vascular system, 
but worthy of some attention all the same. 
At the same time I was conscious of a 
strained feeling of expectancy which was 
almost painful. From the rigid, absolute 
silence of my companions I gathered that 
their nerves were as tense as my own. 

And then suddenly a sound came out of 
the darkness — a low, sibilant sound, the 
quick, thin breathing of a woman. Quicker 
and thinner yet it came, as between clenched 
teeth, to end in a loud gasp with a dull rustle 
of cloth. 

"What's that? Is all right?" someone 
asked in the darkness. 

"Yes, all is right," said the Frenchman. 
" It is madame. She is in her trance. Now, 
gentlemen, if you will wait quiet you will see 
something I think which will interest you 

Still the ticking in the hall. Still the 

breathing, deeper and fuller now, from the 

medium. Still the occasional flash, more 

welcome than ever, of the passing lights of 





the hansoms, What a gap we were bridging, 
the half-raised veil of the eternal on one side 
arid the cabs of London on the other. The 
table was throbbing with a mighty pulse. It 
swayed steadily, rhythmically, with an easy 
swooping, scooping motion under our fingers. 
Sharp little raps and cracks came from its 
substance, file-firing, volley-firing, the sounds 
of a fagot burning briskly on a frosty night. 

<fi There is much power," said the French- 
man. " See it on the table ! " 

" Shall we call the alphabet ? " asked Moir. 

" But no— for we can do much better," 
said our visitor. " It is but a clumsy thing 
to tilt the table for every letter of the 
alphabet, and with such a medium as madame 
we should do better than that." 

11 Yes, you will do better/' said a voice. 

" Who was that ? Who spoke ? Was that 
you, Markham ? " 

* No, I did not speak.'' 

" It was madame who spoke." 


I had thought that it was some delusion of 
my own, but all could see it now. There was 
a greenish-yellow phosphorescent light — or I 
should say a luminous vapour rather than a 
light — which lay over the surface of the table* 
It rolled and wreathed and undulated in dim 
glimmering folds, turning and swirling like 
clouds of smoke, I could see the white, 
square-ended hands of the French medium 
in this baleful light. 

" What a fun I " he cried. " It is splendid ! " 

" But it was not her voice/' 

"Is that you, Mrs. Delamere ? w 

" It is not the medium, but it is the power 

which uses the organs of the medium, " said 

the strange, deep voice, 

11 Where is Mrs. Delamere ? It will not) 

hurt her, I trust." • 

" The medium is happy in another plane 

of existence* She has taken my place, as I 

have taken hegsJ* j j^„ 




" It cannot matter to you who I am. I 
am one who has lived as you are living, and 
who has died as you will die." 

We heard the creak and grate of a cab 
pulling up next door. There was an argu- 
ment about the fare, and the cabman 
grumbled hoarsely down the street. The 
green-yellow cloud still swirled faintly over 
the table, dull elsewhere, but glowing into" a 
dim luminosity in the direction of the 
medium. It seemed to be piling itself up in 
front of her. A sense of fear and cold struck 
into my heart. It seemed to me that lightly 
and flippantly we had approached the most 
real and august of sacraments, that com- 
munion with the dead of which the fathers 
of the Church had spoken. 

"Don't you think we are going too far? 
Should we not break up the stance?" I 

But the others were all earnest to see the 
end of it. They laughed at my scruples. 

"All powers are made for use," said 
Harvey Deacon. "If we can do this, we 
should do this. Every new departure of 
knowledge has been called unlawful in its 
inception. It is right and proper that we 
should inquire into the nature of death." 

" It is right and proper," said the voice. 

" There, what more could you ask ? " cried 
Moir, who was much excited. " Let us have 
a test. Will you give us a test that you are 
really there ? " 

" What test do you demand ? " 

"Well, now — I have some coins in my 
pocket. Will you tell me how many ? " 

u We come back in the hope of teaching 
and of elevating, and not to guess childish 

" Ha, ha, Meester Moir, you catch it that 
time," cried the Frenchman. "But surely 
that is very good sense what the Control is 

" It is a religion, not a game," said the cold, 
hard voice. 

" Exactly— the very view I take of it," 
cried Moir. " I am sure I am very sorry if I 
have asked a foolish question. You will not 
tell me who you are ? " 

"What does it matter?" 

" Have you been a spirit long ? " 


"How long?" 

" We cannot reckon time as you do. Our 
conditions are different." 

" Are you happy ? " 


" You would not wish to come back to 

by Google 

" No— certainly not." 

" Are you busy ? " 

" We could not be happy if we were not 

"What do you do?" 

" I have said that the conditions are 
entirely different." 

" Can you give us no idea of your work ? " 

" We labour for our own improvement and 
for the advancement of others." 

" Do you like coming here to-night ? " 

" I am glad to come, if I can do any good 
by coming." 

" Then to do good is your object ? " 

" It is the object of all life on every plane." 

"You see, Markham, that should answer 
your scruples." 

It did, for my doubts had passed and only 
interest remained. 

" Have you pain in your life ? " I asked. 

"No, pain is a thing of the body." 

" Have you mental pain ? " 

" Yes, one may always be sad or anxious." 

" Do you meet the friends whom you have 
known on earth ?" 

"Some of them." 

" Why only sotne of them ? " 

" Only those who are sympathetic/ 

" Do husbands meet wives ? " 

" Those who nave truly loved." 

" And the others ? " 

"They are nothing to each other." 

" There must be a spiritual connection ? * 

" Of course." 

" Is what we are doing right ? " 

" If done in the right spirit." 

" What is the wrong spirit ? " 

" Curiosity and levity*" 

" May harm come of that ? " 

" Very serious harm." 

" What sort of harm ? " 

" You may call up forces over w r hich you 
have no control." 

"Evil forces?" 

" Undeveloped forces." 

" You say they are dangerous. Dangerous 
to body or mind ? " 

"Sometimes to both." 

There was a pause, and the blackness 
seemed to grow blacker still, while the 
yellow-green fog swirled and smoked upon 
the table. 

"Any questions you would like to ask, 
Moir ? " said Harvey Deacon. 

" Only this — do you pray in your world ? " 

"One should pray in every world." 

" Why ? " 

" Because it is the acknowledgment of 
forces outside ourselves." 
vjr iQiridi Tropin 




"What religion do you hold over there?" 

il We differ exactly as you do." 

" You have no certain knowledge ? " 

" We have only faith," 

11 These questions of religion/' said the 
Frenchman, " they are of interest to you 
serious English people, but they are not so 
much fun. It seems to me that with this 
power here we might be able to have some 
great experience— ^/# ? Something of which 
we could talk." 

" But nothing could be more interesting 
than this," said Moir. 

" Well, if you think so, that is very well," 
the Frenchman answered, peevishly. " For 
my part, it seems to me that I have heard 
all this before, and that to-night I should 
weesh to try some experiment with all this 
force which is given to us. But if you have 
other questions, then ask them, and when 
you are finish we can try some- 
thing more. 1 ' 

But the spell was broken. 
We asked and asked, but the 
medium sat silent in her chair, 
Only her deep, regular breath- 
ing showed that she was there. 
The mist still swirled upon the 

" You have disturbed the 
harmony. She will not 

" But we have learned already 
all that she can tell — he in ? 
For my part 1 wish to see 
something that I have never 
seen before/* 

« What then ? w 

" You will let me trv ? " 

"What would you do?" 

u I have said to you that 
thoughts are things. Now I 
wish to prove it to you, and to 
show you that which is only a 
thought. Yes, yes, I can do it 
and you will see. Now I ask 
you only to sit still and say 
nothing, and keep ever your 
hands quiet upon the table/' 

The room was blacker and 
more silent than ever. The 
same feeling of apprehension 
which had lain heavily upon 
me at the beginning of the 
stance was back at my heart 
once more. The roots of my 
hair were tingling. 

"It is working! It is work- 
ing ! " cried the Frenchman, 

and there was a crack in his voice as he 
spoke which told me that he also was strung 
to his tightest. 

The luminous fog drifted slowly off the 
table, and wavered and flickered across the 
room. There in the farther and darkest 
corner it gathered and glowed, hardening 
down into a shining core a strange, shifty, 
luminous, and yet non-illuminating patch of 
radiance, bright itself and yet throwing no 
rays into the darkness. It had changed 
from a greenish-yellow to a dusky sullen red, 
Then round this centre there coiled a dark, 
smoky substance, thickening, hardening, 
growing denser and blacker, And then tho 
light went out, smothered in that which had 
grown round it. 

" It has gone." 

u Hush— there's something in the room." 

We heard it in the corner where the light 

Vol. «x,^32 


I llhr.'L tt'liKlv TW 

owixe; at us. 




had been, something which breathed deeply 
and fidgeted in the darkness. 

" What is it ? Le Due, what have you 

" It is all right. No harm will come." 
The Frenchman's voice was treble with 

" Good heavens, Moir, there's a large 
animal in the room. Here it is, close by 
my chair ! Go away ! Go away ! " 

It was Harvey Deacon's voice, and then 
came the sound of a blow upon some hard 
object. And then .... And then .... 
how can I tell you what happened then ? 

Some huge thing hurtled against us in 
the darkness, rearing, stamping, smashing, 
springing, snorting. The table was splintered. 
We were scattered in every direction. It 
clattered and scrambled amongst us, rushing 
with horrible energy from one corner of the 
room to another. We were all screaming 
with fear, grovelling upon our hands and 
knees to get away from it. Something trod 
upon my left hand, and I felt the bones 
splinter under the weight. 

" A light ! A light ! " someone yelled. 

" Moir, you have matches, matches ! " 

".No, I have none. Deacon, where are 
the matches ? For God's sake, the matches ! " 

■" I can't find them. Here, you French- 
man, stop it ! " 

" It is beyond me. Oh, //ion Dieu^ I 
cannot stop it. The door ! Where is the 

My hand, by good luck, lit upon the 
handle as I groped about in the darkness. 
The hard-breathing, snorting, rushing creature 
tore past me and butted with a fearful crash 
against the oaken partition. The instant 
that it had passed I turned the handle, and 
next moment we were all outside and the 
door shut behind us. From within came a 
horrible crashing and rending and stamp- 

"What is it? In Heaven's name, what 
is it?" 

"A horse. I saw it when the door 
opened. But Mrs. Delamere ? " 

" We must fetch her out. Come on, 
Markham ; the longer we wait the less we 
shall like it." 

He flung open the door and we rushed in. 
She was there on the ground amidst the 
splinters of her chair. We seized her and 
dragged her swiftly out, and as we gained 
the door I looked over my shoulder into 
the darkness. There were two strange eyes 
glowing at us, a rattle of hoofs, and I had 
just time to slam the door when there came 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

a crash upon it which split it from top to 

" It's coming through ! It's coming ! " 

" Run, run for your lives ! " cried the 

Another crash, and something shot through 
the riven door. It was a long white spike, 
gleaming in the lamplight. For a moment it 
shone before us, and then with a snap it 
disappeared again. 

" Quick ! Quick ! This way ! " Harvey 
Deacon shouted. " Carry her in ! Here ! 

We had taken refuge in the dining-room, 
and shut the heavy oak door. We laid the 
senseless woman upon the sofa, and as we 
did so, Moir, the hard man of business, 
drooped and fainted across the hearthrug. 
Harvey Deacon was as white as a corpse, 
jerking and twitching like an epileptic. With 
a crash we heard the studio door fly to 
pieces, and the snorting and stamping w r ere 
in the passage, up and down, up and down, 
shaking the house with their fury. The 
Frenchman had sunk his face on his hands, 
and sobbed like a frightened child. 

"What shall we do?" I shook him 
roughly by the shoulder. "Is a gun any 
use ? " 

" No, no. The power will pass. Then it 
will end." 

" You might have killed us all — you 
unspeakable fool — with your infernal experi- 

" I did not know. How could I tell that it 
would be frightened ? It is mad with terror. 
It was his fault. He struck it." 

Harvey Deacon sprang up. " Good 
heavens ! " he cried. 

A terrible scream sounded through the 

" It's my wife ! Here, I'm going out. If 
it's the Evil One himself I am going out ! " 

He had thrown open the door and rushed 
out into the passage. At the end of it, at 
the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Deacon was lying 
senseless, struck down by the sight which 
she had seen. But there was nothing else. 
With eyes of horror we looked about us, 
but all was perfectly quiet and still. I ap- 
proached the black square of the studio 
door, expecting with every slow step that 
some atrocious shape would hurl itself out 
of it. But nothing came, and all was silent 
inside the room. Peeping and peering, our 
hearts in our mouths, we came to the very 
threshold, and stared into the darkness. 
There was still no sound, but in one direc- 
tion there was also no darkness. A luminous, 




glowing cloud, with an incandescent centre, 
hovered in the corner of the room. Slowly 
it dimmed and faded, growing thinner and 
fainter, until at last the same dense, velvety 
blackness filled the whole studio. And with 

began by saying that it would seem too 
grotesque to dogmatize as to what it was 
which actually did occur; but I give my im- 
pressions, our impressions (since they are 
corroborated by Harvey Deacon and John 


the last flickering gleam of that baleful light 
the Frenchman broke into a shout of joy, 

" What a fun ! " he cried* " No one is hurt, 
and only the door broken, and the ladies 
frightened. But, my friends, we have done 
what has never been done before*" 

" And as far as I can help it," said Harvey 
Deacon, "it w r ill certainly never be done 

And that was what befell upon the 14th of 
April last at No. 17, Badderly Gardens, I 

Digitized by Gt 

Moir), for what they are worth* You may if it 
pleases you imagine that we were the victims 
of an elaborate and extraordinary hoax. Or 
you may think with us that we underwent a 
very real and a very terrible experience. Or 
perhaps you may know more than we do of 
such occult matters, and can inform us of 
some similar occurrence. In this latter case 
a letter to William Markham, 146M, The 
Albany, would help to throw a light upon 
that which is very dark to us, 


The Flags of Our Forces at the Front. 

By Christabel Osborn, 

HE depth and passion of the 
patriotic enthusiasm with which 
the whole English people have 
been fired have been in them- 
selves some compensation for 
the bitterness of victory de- 
ferred. It is long since any serious warning 
has been given to the nation that the glorious 
record of the past could only be preserved 
through struggle and sacrifice j and while 
our troops in South Africa are facing the 
enemy, perhaps no better occupation could 
be found than to recall the stories of some 
of their hard-fought fights of earlier days. 

The colours of a regiment ! A simple 
phrase, but what a wealth of glorious meaning 
is bound up in those few words ! Only a bit 
of embroidered silkj and yet the very soul of 
the regiment, the symbol of its honour, the 
record of its triumphs, to preserve which life 
is counted a worthless thing ! Who is there 
whose heart has 
not been moved 
and fired as he 
looks at the 
tattered and 
war-worn colours 
which so often 
hang in our 
cathedrals and 
churches; by 
the memories 
they recall of 
glorious deeds 
and heroic 
self- sacrifice ? 
The rich crim- 
son damask that 
marks the 
cavalry standard, 
the embroidered 
roll of battles 
in which the 
regiment won 
an honoured 
name, the 
badges and 
mottoes that re- 
call its history, 
have alike faded 
into one general 
dimness, but still 
the tattered relics 
remain, sacred 
memorials of 
war, the symbols 


rHL'MJ-'L,]" B^NN 

From a Photograph. 

of a courage and heroism that go far to 
redeem its savagery and barbarism. There 
must, indeed, be few who have not felt the 
"stir of fellowship," alike in victory and 
defeat, with those who shed their blood to 
bring the colours home in honour from 
many distant battlefields; but too often those 
hard- fought fights have become mere names 
to us ; the faded letters do but shadow forth 
a past which we neither know nor love, and 
we forget to claim our share in the glorious 
records of our Army, 

Of all cavalry standards, the most magni- 
ficent in appearance are those which ar^ 
borne by the Household Cavalry, the ist and 
2nd Life Guards and the Royal Horse 
Guards. Detachments of these regiments are 
at the time of writing at the front with 
Colonel Neal in command, under General 
French. For some reason not very easy to 
explain, cavalry standards have never held 

such an honour- 
able position as 
infantry colours. 
They w T ere not 
con secrated, 
and new ones 
were usually 
taken into use 
without any 
solemn cere- 
mony of pre- 
sentation, No 
cavalry standards 
were carried 
at the Battle 
of Waterloo, 
and some years 
later, in 1834, 
Hussars and 
Lancers discon- 
tinued using 
them, In 1858 
a regulation was 
made that all 
should be crim- 
son, and that 
only one should 
be borne by 
each regiment. 
To this rule, 
however, the 
U Q n -jCa va 1 r y are an 

FMKMfif ption ' 

K HUUSlillfH.D C. l ^A..!:V. 



Each regiment has a Queen's standard and 
three regimental standards, or one for each 
squadron, all of crimson silk damask. The 
Queen's standard bears the Royal Arms, and 
the regimental standard the Union badge of 
the Rose, Thistle, and Shamrock on one stalk, 
and the roll of distinctions is embroidered 
on both. On the trumpet and kettledrum 
banners it is interesting to note the two 
angels or winged Cupids supporting the 
Crown, one on each side. They appeared 
on the standards as well in the days of 
James IL, and formed part of the Royal 
Arms of France 
occasion all y 
adopted by the 

The Life 
Guards and 
Horse Guards 
are amongst the 
oldest corps in 
the service, their 
formation dating 
back, like that 
of the Grenadier 
Guards and the 
Coldstreams, to 
1660. They 
served with dis- 
tinction in Marl- 
borough's wars, 
and nearly a 
century later 
were maintain 
ing their old 
reputation in 
the prolonged 
struggle. At 
Waterloo, the 
three regiments, 
under Lord 
Edward Somer- 
set, were posted 
at Mont St. 
Gean, and their 
gallantry in re- 
pulsing the charges of the French Cuirassiers 
won them a special meed of praise from the 
Iron Duke himself. At the close of the 
battle, indeed, they were so reduced in 
numbers as to form but a single squadron, 
but they, nevertheless, joined in the general 
advance. The bugle with which the decisive 
charge was sounded is still preserved. Each 
regiment possesses a pair of silver kettle- 
drums presented by King William IV A 

Standards are carried by Dragoon fiuards 

and guidons, or swallow-tailed pennons, by 
Dragoons. Both bear in the centre the title 
or badge of the regiment, surrounded by the 
Union wreath of the Rose, Thistle, and 
Shamrock, The records of many of the regi- 
ments of Dragoon Guards date back to the 
days of the Revolution. 

The famous Union Brigade, which has 
made itself a name in many a gallant charge, 
is composed of the three regiments of 
Dragoons, the Royals, the Scots Greys, 
and the Inniskiltings. There are no 
prouder or more honoured mottoes in 


from a 


Photo, hu Wpralt i£ Son, Ahlt?*h„i. 

the British Army than those of the Scots 
Greys — attached to General French's Divi- 
sion, They carry on their guidon : 
14 Second to None " and u Nemo me 
impune lacessit," and well has the regiment 
proved its right to bear them. In the 
mighty battles of Marlborough's wars their 
service commenced, and at Ramillies they 
charged through the French Cuirassiers 
and captured fn triumph the famous white 



Waterloo the united charge of the 
Scots Greys and the 92nd High- 
landers, and their overthrow of 

From a Phnta. Uj Gtor$e Jttivatt, Limtftd. 

IVKrlon's column, was 
one of the turning- 
points of the battle. 

Infantry regiments 
have each a pair of 
colours. Under Eliza- 
beth each company 
had a colour of its own, 
and retained it even 
after several companies 
had been united into a 
regiment. Then came 
in the custom of draw- 
ing up regiments in 
three divisions, a body 
of pikemen in the 
centre, flanked on 
either side by musket- 
eers ; and the number 
of colours was accord- 
ingly reduced to three. 
Under Queen Anne 
the pikemen and the 
third colour disap- 
peared together. At 
the present time the 
Royal West Surrey 
Regiment {2nd Foot) 
still possesses a third 
colour, sea-g reen, like 
the ancient lacings of 
the corps. 

It was the Grenadier Guards who formed 
Maitland's Brigade at Waterloo, and it was 
from their overthrow of the French Grena- 
dier Guards at that 
battle that they 
gained their name, 
and henceforth car- 
ried on their colours 
a grenade beneath the 
badge* A pair of the 
colours so honourably 
carried by a battalion 
of this regiment at 
Waterloo are now 
hanging in the chap**l 
of Wellington Bar- 
racks, Nearly forty 
years later the Guards 
showed that their 
mettle was in no way 
altered during the 
long fight at Inker- 
man against over- 
whelming odds, and 
are still maintaining 
the gallant tradition 
of their regiment on 
the South African veldt. An additional 
distinction of the Grenadier Guards is the 
possession of a State colour, bearing the 




Frum a Photo, bx George Ntvnti, Limited. 

Royal cipher, reversed and interlaced, a 
colour which was first presented to them by 
William IV. The ist Battalion, Windsor, 
the 2nd Battalion, Wellington Barracks, 
and the 3rd Battalion form part of the 
Guards' Brigade under Colville with 
Methuen. Their gallant conduct in the 
battles along Kimberley Road is well 

The bufi" colours, so often carried to 
victory by the famous 52nd (2nd Bat- 
talion Oxfordshire Light Infantry, now 
stationed at F'erozepore, Punjab; whilst 
the 1st Battalion is in South Africa, in 
General Kelly-Kenny's Division), the 
" regiment never surpassed in war since 
arms were first borne by men," have now 
become white. One of the old colours, 
with its long roll of honours, still hangs 
in the banqueting-room at Whitehall, 
now the home of the United Service 
Institution. What deeds of daring are 
recalled by every name! Ciudad Rodrigo, 
where the 52nd and the 43rd furnished 
the storming party, and the forlorn hope; 
Waterloo, where the 52 nd drove bask the 
far-famed Imperial Guard, under the 
great Ney himself, with such success that 
as the Prussians advanced in pursuit 
their bands played the National Anthem 
in compliment to the troops, and a 
Prussian officer rode forward and em- 
braced the colours in token of his at 

tion. Other names of honour have 
been added since then, notably Delhi, 
recalling the heroic storming of the 
Cashmere Gate, a deed of daring 
perhaps never surpassed in war. 

Side by side with the colours of 
the 52nd hang those of the 66th 
(2nd Battalion Berkshire Regiment), 
serving with General Gatacre, and 
taking part in his famous night 
march which ended so disastrously. 
Their colours bear the record of 
many hard-fought fights, above all, 
Albuhera, in memory of the fiercest 
and most sanguinary of all the Pen- 
insular battles. There the King's 
Colour of the Buffs (3rd Foot) was 
only saved by the heroism of Lieu- 
tenant Latham, who snatched it 
wire n the ensign was taken prisoner, 
;;n.l, though wounded and trampled 
on> managed to conceal it underneath 
him, until the advance of the Fusilier 
I brigade drove back the enemy. 
There, too, the 57th (18th Battalion 
Middlesex Regiment) won their nick- 
name of the "Die-hards.*' Their Colonel, 
Inglis, who was leading the advance, was 
wounded, but refusing to be carried to the 



From li i"*. ta-iiSt. lv Ahart LW. A'onvkh. 





rear, he maintained his position in front of the 
colours, calling to the men to "Die hard. 1 ' 
They obeyed his command. When the fatal hill 
was won one officer and sixty- eight men were 
left unwounded to gather round the shattered 
remnants of the King's Colour, which had 
been riddled by more than thirty balls. The 
memory of such a deed of valour has served 
as an inspiration to the regiment in other 
hard struggles, and at Inkerman Captain 
Stanley rallied his men with the words : 
" Die-hards, remember Albuhera/ 

The wild hills and dangerous passes 
of Afghanistan have seen many heroic 
struggles. During the disastrous retreat from 
Cabul in 1842, of which only Dr. Brydon 
arrived to tell the tale at Jellalabad, out of 
682 men of the 
44th (1st Bat- 
talion Essex 
Regiment, now 
with Gat acre in South 
Africa) at Cabul on 
October 1st, but fifty 
survived, wounded 
and prisoners. The 
retreat began in Jan- 
uary, and almost im- 
mediately the attack 
commenced, the army 
marching harassed by 
the incessant fire of 
the Ghilzais. At Jag 
dallak a determined 
attempt was made to 
beat off the enemy, 
when the 44th lost 
200 men. At Gan- 
damuk the last stand 
was made. On a little 
hill the survivors of 
the 44th, some 
seventy- five in num- 
ber, yet held out 
against an overwhelming force of Afghans 
for two hours, till their ammunition was 
expended. Lieutenant Soutar was one of 
the few who escaped death. He had 
wrapped the regimental colour round his 
body, and being struck down in the fight, 
the colour was exposed to view. It was 
thought by the Afghans to indicate high 
rank , and he was carried off a prisoner* He 
was able to retain the colour, and when the 
avenging force arrived it was brought back 
to India, where it was carried for some time 
by a newly-recruited 44th, and was finally 
placed in the Church of Alverstoke, Hants, 
over a monument erected to the officers and 

Digitized by GOOglC 


men who fell in that fatal campaign. The 
Queen's colour was intrusted to Sergeant 
Carey, but he was killed, and in the con- 
fusion of a night march the colour was lost. 

It was not the first time that the 44th 
had fought well in an unequal battle. In the 
Peninsular they received the nickname of the 
" Little Fighting Fours," and on the retreat 
from Burgos they formed the rear-guard and 
were reduced to forty-two men of all ranks 
fit for duty. It was on this occasion a 
sergeant of the regiment came to an officer 
and said: " Sir, the mules and camp-kettles 
are lost, but as I am the only man of the 
company left, it is not of much con- 

At Quatre Bras the regiment was attacked 

by a force of 
lancers in the 
rear, when 
already en- 
gaged in front Not 
having time to form 
square, the rear rank 
faced round and sue- 
reeded in beating off 
the enemy. Some of 
the French lancers 
made a dash for the 
rolours and wounded 
the ensign in the eye, 
but he retained his 
hold A lancer, how- 
ever, succeeded in 
bearing off a piece of 
the silk, but was shot 
down before he could 
carry it off, and the 
piece is still in the 
possession of the regi- 
ment, A similar in- 
cident of the rear 
rank of a regiment 
successfully facing 
round and repulsing the enemy occurred in 
the ease of the 28th Foot (Gloucestershire 
Regiment) in the Egyptian campaign of 
1 80 1. Both battalions are serving in South 
Africa. Part of the 1st is attached to 
General Clery's Division, and a part is in 
Ladysmith at the moment of writing. The 
2nd Battalion of this famous regiment serves 
under UeuL - General Kelly - Kenny. In 
honour of this exploit, until 1881 the 28th 
wore their regimental number on the back as 
well as the front of their head-dress. 

Not a few of the special privileges of many 
regiments have arisen from some brilliant 
feat o£ armg r M n ^^,battlefiekL On the 




anniversary of Waterloo the men of the rst 
Battalion South Lancashire Regiment (the 
Prince of Wales's Volunteers, the old 40th), 
which forms part of (Ventral Woodgate's 
Brigade in Sir Charles Warren's Division, 
wear a laurel leaf and deck the colours with 
wreaths, for on that day fourteen sergeants 
besides officers were killed and wounded in 
their defence, and the silk was almost shot 
away. Indeed, the regiment was so reduced 
in numbers that by the time the Prussians 
came up it had become difficult to form 
square. For many years the 40th had thtj 
honour of bearing on their colours more 
victories than any other single battalion 

Every infantry regiment took its colours 
into the Crimea. At the halt before the 
assault on the heights of Alma the staiT were 
riding along the front of the troops, by whom 
they were received with thundering cheers, 
and Marshal St, Amand exclaimed: "English, 
I hope you will fight well to-day !' J "Hope 1 " 
exclaimed a voice from the ranks of the 
55th. u Sure you know we will." 

The 55th (2nd Battalion Border Regiment) 
formed part of the 1st Brigade of the fight- 
ing division under General Pennefeather, 
and suffered severely both at Alma and 
Inkerman. The 2nd Battalion Border 

Regiment, the old 34th, did not arrive In 
the Crimea till December, 1854. The first 
colours to wave on the great redoubt at 
Alma were those of the Royal Welsh 
Fusiliers, which had been presented to the 
regiment by the Prince Consort. The 
lieutenant was shot down, but others took 
his place, and so gallant was their action 
that General Sir George Brown, who was 
leading the advance, called out: "Hurrah 
for the Roval Welsh ! I shall remember 


He himself was wounded and fell 

from his horse, but mounted again Im- 
mediately, with the assistance of a rifleman, 
who in all the din and excitement of die 
battle yet Found time to ask: "Are your 
stirrups the right length, sir ? " 

The Royal Welsh, as everyone knows, 
forms part of the Fusilier Brigade under 
Major-General Barton, serving with Butler in 

At Inkerman the Grenadier Guards took 
their colours to the sandbag battery, where 
they remained the whole morning, and the 
colours of the 21st (Royal Seots Fusiliers) 
were only removed from the field by Lord 
Raglan's orders, after three officers and 
seventeen sergeants had fallen in escorting 

The colours carried by the 93rd Sutherland 

From a Photo* (^] 
Vq). six. -33 

COLOURS OF THE $$RD HlGJ(l\ffl}jffi;~ t \ "|~Y ( - ^| Q |-| ICj^ft * ^ * &&*$€&■ 

25 8 


Highlanders throughout the Crimean cam- 
paign, and which had been presented to the 
regiment by the l>uke of Wellington, have 
now received a honoured place in Glasgow 
Cathedral. The Argyll and Sutherland 
Highlanders (the old 93rd) have contributed 
their quota to the South African War, inas- 
much as the 1 st Battalion is in South Africa 
with Major-General Pole-Carew*s brigade 
under Lord Methuem It is the only 
infantry regiment entitled to record the name 
of Balaclava on its colours. As the Russian 
cavalry advanced 
to the attack in 
heavy columns, 
Sir Colin Camp- 
bell called to 
the Highlanders, 
"There is no 
retreat from 
here, men ! You 
must die where 
you stand ! " and 
the answer came 
back, " Aye, aye, 
Sir Colin, and 
needs be, we'll 
do that 1" They 
did not alter 
their formation, 
but received and 
repulsed the 
charge standing 
only two deep — 
the " thin red 

From the 
frosts and snows 
of the Crimea 
they were soon 
to find them- 
selves under the 
burning sun of 
India, making 
forced marches, 
with the same 
general in com 
mand, to bring 

relief to beleaguered Lucknow. And it was 
another Scottish regiment, the 78th (the Ross- 
shire Buffs) which received the name of the 
" Saviours of India." They also marched to 
Luck now in the vanguard of Sir Henry 
Haveloek's relief column, and the colours 
they carried through that splendid advance 
are still to be seen in the Town Hall at 
Dingwall. But there is not one of the 
Highland regiments the name of which does 
not recall some heroic story to the mind, and 

it is but a few weeks since the Black Watch 
(42nd Highlanders) have been adding fresh 
honour to the roll. They will ever 6e 
remembered as having followed their beloved 
Waurhopc up the trenches at Magersfontein, 
and to h&ve stood unflinchingly before the 
withering hail of bullets which decimated 
their ranks. 

The Castle and the Key, the arms of 
Gibraltar, are carried on the colours of 
several regiments in recognition of their 
services there in 1704. The Sphinx, super- 
scribed "Egypt," 
marks the regi- 
me n t s w h 
served under 
Abercrombie in 
t8oi ; and the 
Royal Marines 
wear a laurel 
badge in memory 
of the capture of 
Belle- Isle in 
1 761. This regi- 
ment shares 
with the Buffs 
the privilege of 
being able to 
march through 
the City of Lon- 
don with drums 
beating and 
colours flying, a 
privilege that 
may arise from 
the fact that 
both are some- 
times thought to 
have been first 
recruited from 
the train -bands 
of the City. 

The 13th (1st 
Battalion Somcr- 
setshire Regi- 


From a Photo, by J. Hun rw, LH n$wa \L 


ment), which 
endured the 
siege of Jellala- 
bad under Sir Robert Sale, carry in honour 
of their brave defence a 1 mural crown on 
their colours, with the word *' Jellalabad/ 5 
The circlet of a mural crown is decorated 
with battlements : it was given by the 
Romans to the man who first scaled the 
walls of a besieged city. The 2nd Battalion 
of this famous regiment is in Major-General 
Clery's Division. 

Whole vol^j^jiYjjPi^^ite required to tell 


2 59 


From a Pkato t hy J, Wwmll & $m> AWerikctf. 

emblazoned on regimental colours, and of all 
the blood -stained laurels gained by British 
soldiers in every quarter of the world. It 
may be, perhaps, that after years of peace 
and prosperity a time of stress and storm 
is coming once again for England, and, 
like our forefathers of old, we may havt: 
to face a world in arms, But, whatever 
the odds against us, our national character 
must indeed have changed if we ever 
consent to sink below the standard they 
have set There is no doubt that our 
soldiers will display the same unflinching 
courage which has always marked them ; but, 
perhaps, there may be need to sec that as a 
nation we have not degenerated through our 
long enjoyment of all the material advantages 
of peace, and prove we can not only rise 
for a moment to an outburst of patriotic 

enthusiasm, but that we also possess the 
same dogged perseverance which alone can 
bear the pressing strain and painful sacrifices 
of a prolonged war, and the same resolution 
not to recognise our own defeat which has 
so often led us to victories in the past. 

Those great deeds are half-forgotten now ; 
the records are hidden away in regimental 
histories : the colours are fading in our 
churches ; but if ever we feel a thrill of pride 
in the greatness of our Empire or in the 
noble place held by our national flag, let us 
remember too u how vast the debt we owe to 
those who died/' 

Never the lotos closes* never the wildfowl wake, 

But a soul went out on the east wind that died for 

England's sake — 
Man or woman or suckling, mother or hrideor maid— 
Because on the bones of the English, the English flag 

is stayed. 

Note. — I cannot conclude this article without acknowledging my great obligations to the commanding 
officers of many regiments and to other possessors of historic colours, by whose kindness alone it has been 
]x>ssible to procure the special photographs with which it is illustrated. 

by Google 

Original from 

Jimmy's Big Brother From California. 

By Bret Harte. 

S night crept up from the 
valley that stormy afternoon 
Sawyer's l^edge was at first 
quite blotted out by wind and 
rain, but presently re-appeared 
in little nebulous star - like 
points along the mountain side as the 
straggling cabins of the settlement were, one 
by one, lit up by the miners returning from 
tunnel and claim. These stars were of vary- 
ing brilliancy that evening, two notably so — 
one that eventually resolved itself into a 
many-candled illumination of a cabin of 
evident festivity; the other into a glimmer- 
ing taper in the window of a silent one. 
They might have represented the extreme 
mutations of fortune in the settlement that 
night : the celebration of a strike by Robert 
Falloner, a lucky miner ; and the sick bed of 
Dick Lasham, an unlucky one. 

The latter was, however, not quite alone. 
He was ministered to by Daddy Folsom, a 
weak but emotional and aggressively hopeful 
neighbour, who was sitting beside the wooden 
bunk whereon the invalid lay. Yet there was 
something perfunctory in his attitude : his 
eyes were continually straying to the window, 
whence the illuminated Falloner festivities 
could be seen between the trees, and his ears 
were more intent on the songs and laughter 
that came faintly from the distance than on 
the feverish breathing and unintelligible 
moans of the sufferer. 

Nevertheless, he looked troubled equally 
by the condition of his charge and by his 
own enforced absence from the revels. A 
more impatient moan from the sick man, 
however, brought a change to his abstracted 
face, and he turned to him with an exagger- 
ated expression of sympathy. 

" In course ! Lordy ! I know jest what 
those pains are : kinder ez ef you was havin' 
a tooth pulled that had roots branchin' all 
over ye ! My ! I've jest had 'em so bad I 
couldn't keep from yellin' ! That's hot 
rheumatics ! Yes, sir, /oughter know ! And " 
(confidentially) " the sing'ler thing about 'em 
is that they get worst jest as th'y're going 
off — sorter wringin' yer hand and punchin' 
ye in the back to say 'Good-bye.' There ! " 
he continued, as the man sank exhaustedly 
back on his rude pillow of flour -sacks. 
" There ! didn't I tell ye ? Ye'll be all right 
in a minit, and ez chipper ez a jay bird in 
the mornin'. Oh ? don't tell we about rheu- 

matics — I've bin thar! On'y mine was the 
cold kind— that hangs on longest — yours is 
the hot, that burns itself up in no time." 

If the flushed face and bright eyes of 
Lasham were not enough to corroborate this 
symptom of high fever, the quick, wandering 
laugh he gave would have indicated the point 
of delirium. But the too optimistic Daddy 
Folsom referred this act to improvement, and 
went on, cheerfully : " Yes, sir, you're better 
now, and " — here he assumed an air of 
cautious deliberation, extravagant, as all his 
assumptions were — " I ain't sayin' that— ef — 
you— was — to — rise — up" (very slowly) "and 
heave a blanket or two over your shoulders — 
jest by way o' caution, you know — and leanin' 
on me, kinder meander over to Bob Falloner's 
cabin and the boys, it wouldn't do you a 
heap o' good. Changes o' this kind is often 
prescribed by the faculty." Another moan 
from the sufferer, however, here apparently 
corrected Daddy's too favourable prognosis. 
u Oh, all right ! Well, perhaps ye know 
best ; and I'll jest run over to Bob's and 
say how as ye ain't comin', and will be back 
in a jiffy ! " 

" The letter," said the sick man, hurriedly, 
" the letter, the letter ! " . 

Daddy leaned suddenly over the bed. It 
was impossible for even his hopefulness to 
avoid the fact that Lasham was delirious. It 
was a strong factor in the case — one that 
would certainly justify his going over to 
Falloner's with the news. For the present 
moment, however, this aberration was to be 
accepted cheerfully and humoured after 
Daddy's own fashion. "Of course — the 
letter, the letter," he said, convincingly ; 
"that's what the boys hev bin singin' jest 

Good-bye, Charley ; when you are away, 
Write a letter, love ; send me a letter, love ! 

That's what you heard, and a mighty purty 
song it is too, and kinder clings to you. It's 
wonderful how these things gets in your head." 

" The letter ! — write — send money — 
money — money, and the photograph — the 
photograph — photograph — money," continued 
the sick man, in the rapid reiteration of 

" In course you will — to-morrow — when 
the mail goes," returned Daddy, soothingly ; 
" plenty of them. Jess now yer try to get a 
snooze, will -ye?- -Hoi' on !— take some Q* 




There was an anodyne mixture on the rude 
shelf which the doctor had left on his morn- 
ing visit, Daddy had a comfortable belief 
that what would relieve pain would also check 
delirium, and he accordingly measured out a 
dose with a liberal margin to allow of waste 
by the patient in swallowing in his semi- 
conscious state. As he lay more quiet, 
muttering still, but now unintelligibly, Daddy, 
waiting for a more complete unconscious- 
ness and the opportunity to slip away to 
Falloner's, cast his eyes around the cabin. 
He noticed now for the first time since 
his entrance that a crumpled envelope bear- 
ing a Western post-mark was lying at the 
foot of the bed. Daddy knew that the tri- 
weekly post had arrived an hour before 
he came, and that I^asham had evidently 
received a letter. Sure enough the letter 
itself was lying against the wall beside him. 
It was open. Daddy felt justified in reading it. 

It was curt and business-like, stating that 

unless Lasham at once sent a remittance for 
the support of his brother and sister— two 
children in charge of the writer — they must 
find a home elsewhere- That the arrears 
were long standing, and the repeated promises 
of Lasham to send money had been un- 
fulfilled. That the writer could stand it no 
longer. This would be his last communica- 
tion unless the money were sent forthwith. 

It was by no means a novel or, under 
the circumstances, a shocking disclosure to 
Daddy. He had seen similar missives from 
daughters, and even wives, consequent on 
the varying fortunes of his neighbours; no 
one knew better than he the uncertainties of 
a miner's prospects, and yet the inevitable 
hopefulness that buoyed him up. He tossed 
it aside impatiently, when his eye caught a 
strip of paper he had overlooked lying upon 
the blanket near the envelope. It contained 
a few lines in an unformed, boyish hand 
addressed to "my bruther," and evidently 
slipped into the letter after it was 
written. By the uncertain candle- 
light Daddy read as follows; — 

u Dear Bruther, Rite to me 

and Cissy rite off! Why aim you 

done it? It's so long since you 

Mister Recketts ses 

care any more. Wen 

send your fotografl. 

Folks here ses I aint got no big 

bruther any way, as I disrememer 

his looks, and cant say wots like 

him. Cissy's kryin 1 all along of 

it. I've got a hedake* William 

Walker made it ake by a bio, So 

no more at presen from your 

loving little bruther Jim." 

The quick, hysteric laugh with 
which Daddy read this was quite 
consistent with his responsive, 

rote any. 
you dont 


the ready 
his eyes. 

nature ; so 
tears that 
He put the 


too were 
sprang to 
down unsteadily, with a casual 
glance at the sick man. It was 
notable, however, that this look 
contained less sympathy for the 
ailing " big brother " than his 
emotion might have suggested. 
For Daddy was carried quite 
away by his own mental pic- 
ture of the helpless children, 
and eager only to relate his 
impressions of the incident. 
He cast another glance at the 
in-vsilid, itfirust the papers into his 

UNIVEFgW^Ff^t^Pffi 1 ^ on his hat 



slipped from the cabin and ran to the house 
of festivity. Yet it was characteristic of the 
man, and so engrossed was he by his one 
idea, that to the usual inquiries regarding his 
patient, he answered : " He's all right," and 
plunged at once into the incident of the 
dunning letter, reserving — with the instinct 
of an emotional artist — the child's missive 
until the last As he expected, the money 
demand was received with indignant criticisms 
of the writer. 

" That's just like 'em in the States," said 
Captain Fletcher ; " darned if they don't 
believe we've only got to bore a hole in the 
ground and snake out a hundred dollars ! 
Why, there's my wife — with a heap of hoss 
sense in everything else — is alius wonderin' 
why I can't rake in a cool fifty betwixt one 
steamer day and another." 

"That's nothin' to my old dad," inter- 
rupted Gus Houston, the " infant " of the 
camp, a bright-eyed young fellow of twenty ; 
" why, he wrote to me yesterday that if I'd 
only pick up a single piece of gold every day 
and just put it aside, sayin' 'that's for popper 
and mommer,' and not fool it away — it would 
be all they'd ask of me." 

" That's so," added another ; " these 
ignorant relations is just the ruin o' the 
mining industry. Bob Falloner hez bin lucky 
in his strike to-day, but he's a darned sight 
luckier in being without kith or kin that he 
knows of." 

Daddy waited until the momentary irrita- 
tion had subsided, and then drew the other 
letter from his pocket. "That ain't all, boys," 
he began, in a faltering voice, but gradually 
working himself up to a pitch of pathos ; 
" just as I was thinking all them- very things, 
I kinder noticed this yer poor little bit o' 
paper lyin' thar lonesome like and forgotten, 
and I— read it — and well — gentlemen — it 
just choked me right up ! " He stopped, 
and his voice faltered. 

" Go slow, Daddy, go slow ! " said an 
auditor, smilingly. It was evident that 
Daddy's sympathetic weakness was well 

Daddy read the child's letter. But, un- 
fortunately, what with his real emotion and 
the intoxication of an audience, he read it 
extravagantly, and interpolated a child's lisp 
(on no authority whatever) and a simulated 
infantile delivery, which, I fear, at first pro- 
voked the smiles rather than the tears of his 
audience. Nevertheless, at its conclusion 
the little note was handed round the party, 
and then there was a moment of thoughtful 

" Tell you what it is, boys," said Fletcher, 
looking around the table ; " we ought to be 
doin' suthin' for them kids right off! Did 
you," turning to Daddy, " say anythin' about 
this to Dick ? " 

" Nary — why, he's clean off his head with 
fever— don't understand a word — and just 
babbles," returned Daddy, forgetful of his 
roseate diagnosis a moment ago, " and hasn't 
got a cent." 

" We must make up what we can amongst 
us afore the mail goes to-night," said the 
u infant," feeling hurriedly in his pockets. 
" Come, ante up, gentlemen," he added, 
laying the contents of his buckskin purse 
upon the table. 

" Hold on, boys," said a quiet voice. It 
was their host Falloner who had just risen, 
and was slipping on his oilskin coat. 
"You've got enough to do, I reckon, to 
look after your own folks. I've none ! Let 
this be my affair. I've got to go to the Express 
Office anyhow — to see about my passage 
home, and I'll just get a draft for a hundred 
dollars for that old skeesicks — what's his 
blamed name? Oh, Ricketts," he made a 
memorandum from the letter, " and I'll send 
it by express. Meantime, you fellows sit down 
there and write something — you know what ; 
saying that Dick's hurt his hand and can't 
write — you know ; but asked you to send a 
draft, which you're doing. Sabe ? That's all ! 
I'll skip over to the express now and get the 
draft off, and you can mail the letter an hour 
later. So put your dust back in your pockets 
and help yourselves to the whisky while I'm 
gone." He clapped his hat on his head and 

" There goes a white man, you bet ! " said 
Fletcher, admiringly, as the door closed 
behind their host. " Now, boys," he added, 
drawing a chair to the table, " let's get this 
yer letter off, and then go back to our 

Pens and ink were produced, and an 
animated discussion ensued as to the matter 
to be conveyed. Daddy's plea for an ex- 
tended explanatory and sympathetic com- 
munication was overruled, and the letter was 
written to Ricketts, on the simple lines sug- 
gested by Falloner. 

" But what about poor little Jim's letter? 
That ought to be answered," said Daddy, 

" If Dick hurt his hand so he can't write 
to Ricketts, how in thunder is he goin' to 
write to Jim ? " was the reply. 

" But suthin' oughter be said to the poor 
kid," urjcd Daddy f piteously. 



11 Well, write it yourself — you and Gus 
Houston make up suthin 1 together* Vm going 
to win some money," retorted Fletcher, re- 
turning to the card table, where he was 
presently followed by all but Daddy and 

" Ye can't write it in Dick's name, because 

up a lead mighty close, and expects to strike 
it rich in a few days/ 5 

" Gh, come off, Daddy ! " interrupted Hous- 
ton, u that's too thin ! n 

* £ You ain't got no sabe about kids, 35 said 
Daddy, imperturbably ; " they've got to be 
humoured like sick folks, And they want 


that little brother knows Dick's handwriting, 
even if he don't remember his face, See ? " 
suggested Houston. 

" That's so/ 7 said Daddy, dubiously j " but/ 1 
he added, with elastic cheerfulness, "we can 
write that Dick 'says. 5 See ? " 

"Your head's level, old man! Just you 
wade in on that" 

Daddy seized the pen and "waded in," 
Into somewhat deep and difficult water, 1 
fancy, for some of it splashed into his eyes 
and he sniffled once or twice as he wrote, 
" Suthin 1 like this," he said, after a pause : — 

" Dear Little Jimmie,- — Your big brother 
bavin 1 hurt his hand, wants me to tell you 
that other ways he is all hunky and Ai. He 
says he don't forget you and little Cissy, you 
bet ! and he's sendin 5 money to old Ricketts 
straight off. He says don't you and Cissy 
mind whether school keeps or not as long as 
Big Brother Dick holds the lines, He says 
he'd have written before, but he's bin follerin 1 

every thin 1 fag— they don't take no stock in 
things ex they are, even ef they hev 'em 
worse than they are. So," continued Daddy, 
reading, to prevent further interruption, "he 
says youVe just to keep your eyes skinned 
lookin' out for him comin* home any time — 
day or night. All you've got to do is to sit 
up and wait. He might come and even 
snake you out of your beds 1 He might come 
with four white horses and a nigger driver, 
or he might come disguised as an ornary 
tramp. Only you've got to be keen on 
watchinV* ("Ye see/* interrupted Daddy, 
explanatorily, "that'll jest keep them kids 
lively w ) ; " he says Cissy's to stop cry in* right 
off, and if Willie Walker hits yer on the right 
cheek you just slug out with your left fist, 
■cordin' to Scripter,'' " Gosh,' 1 ejaculated 
Daddy, stopping suddenly and gazing 
anxiously at Houston, " there's that blamed 
photograph— I ctear forgot that;" 

"iMEfifrfr Wflattiw in the sh °P' 



and neveT had," returned Houston, emphatic- 
ally, "Golly! that stumps us! Unless," 
he added, with diabolical thought fulness, 
" we take Bob's ? The kids don't remember 
Dick's face, and Bob's about the same age. 
And it's a regular star picture — you bet ! 
Bob had it taken in Sacramento — in all his 
war paint. See ! Ji He indicated a photo- 
graph pinned against Lhe wall — a really 
striking likeness which did full justice to 
Bob's long silken moustache and large, brown, 
determined eyes. u Til snake it off while 
they ain't looking and you jam it in the letter* 
Bob won't miss it, and we can fix it up with 
Dick after he's well, and send another." 

Daddy silently grasped the Infant's hand, 
who presently secured the photograph with- 
out attracting attention from the card-players. 
It was promptly inclosed in the letter, ad- 
dressed to Master James Lasham, the Infant 
started with it to the post-office, and Daddy 
Folsom returned to Lasham's cabin to relieve 
the watcher that had been detached from 
Falloner's to take his place beside the sick 

Meanwh i le 
the rain fell 
steadily and the 
shadows crept 
higher and 
higher up the 
mountain. To- 
wards midnight 
the star points 
faded out one 
by one over 
Sawyer's I .edge 
even as they 
had come, with 
the difference 
that the illumi- 
nation of Fal- 
loner's cabin 
was extin- 
guished first, 
while the dim 
light of Las- 
ham's increased 
in 11 u in b c r ♦ 
Later, two stars 
seemed to shoot 
from the centre 
of the ledge, 
trailing along 
the descent, 
until they were 
lost in the ob- 
scurity of the 
slope — the 

lights of the stage coach to Sacramento 
carrying the mail and Robert Faltoner, They 
met and passed two fainter lights toiling up 
the road — the buggy lights of the doctor, 
hastily summoned from Carter vi lie to the 
bedside of the dying Dick lasham. 

The slowing up of his train caused Bob 
Fa 1 loner to start from a half doze in a 
A V ester n Pullman car, As he glanced from 
his window he could see that the blinding 
snowstorm which had followed him for the 
past si* hours had at last hopelessly blocked 
the line. There was no prospect beyond the 
in terminable snowy level, the whirling flakes, 
and the monotonous palisades of leafless 
trees seen through it to the distant banks of 
the Missouri, It was a prospect that the 
mountain-bred Fallon er was beginning to 
loathe, and, although it was scarcely six 
weeks since he left California, he was already 
looking back regretfully to the deep slopes 
and the free song of the serried ranks of pines. 
The intense cold had chilled his temperate 

blood, even as 
the rigours and 
conventions of 
Eastern life had 
checked his sin- 
cerity and spon- 
taneous flow of 
animal spirits 
begotten in the 
frank inter- 
course and bro- 
therhood of 
camps. He. had 
just fled from 
the artificialities 
of the great 
Atlantic cities to 
seek out some 
Western farm- 
ing lands in 
which he might 
put his capital 
and energies. 
The unlooked- 
for interruption 
of his progress 
by a long -for- 
gotten climate 
only deepened 
his discontent. 
And now— that 
train was actu- 
ally backing! 
It appeared they 




the last station to wait for a snow-plough to 
clear the line. It was, explained the con- 
ductor, barely a mile from Shepherds town, 
where there was a good hotel and a chance 
of breaking the journey for the night 

Shepherdstown ! The name touched some 
dim chord in Bob Falloner's memory and 
conscience — yet one that was vague. Then 
he suddenly remembered that before leaving 
New York he had received a letter from 
Houston informing him of l^asham's death, 
reminding him of his previous bounty;, and 
begging him— if he went West — to break the 
news to the Lasham family. There was also 
some allusion to a joke about his (Bob's) 
photography which he had dismissed as un- 
important, and even 
now could not remem- 
ber clearly. For a few 
moments his con- 
scien ce pricked him 
that he should have 
forgotten it all, but 
now he could make 
amends by this provi- 
dential delay* It was 
not a task to his liking ; 
in any other circum- 
stances he would have 
written, but he would 
not shirk it now. 

Sh epher ds to w n was 
on the main line of the 
Kansas Pacific Road, 
and as he alighted at 
its station, the big 
through trains from 
San Francisco swept 
out of the stormy dis- 
tance and stopped also* 
He remembered* as 
he mingled with the 
passengers, hearing a 
childish voice ask if 
this was theCalifornian 
train. He remembered 
hearing the amused 
and patient reply of the 
station - master : " Yes, 
sonny — here she is 
again, and here's her 
passengers, " as he got 
into the omnibus and drove to the hotel. 
Here he resolved to perform his disagreeable 
duty as quickly as possible, and on his way 
to his room stopped for a moment at the office 
to ask for Ricketts's address. The clerk, after 
a quick glance of curiosity at his new guest, 
gave it to htm readily, with a somewhat 

familiar smile. It struck Falloner also as 
being odd that he had not been asked to 
write his name on the hotel register, but this 
was a saving of time he was not disposed to 
question, as he had already determined to 
make his visit to Ricketts at once, before 
dinner. It was still early evening. 

He was washing his hands in his bedroom 
when there came a light tap at his sitting- 
room door. Falloner quickly resumed his 
coat and entered the sitting-room as the 
porter ushered in a young lady holding a 
small boy by the hand. But, to Fall oner *s 
utter consternation no sooner had the door 
closed on the servant than the boy, with a 
half apologetic glance at the young lady, 

Vol, xk.-34, 

DICK ! DICK t " 

uttered a childish cry, broke from her, and 
calling, "Dick! Dick!" ran forward and 
leaped into Falloner's arms. 

The mere shock of the onset and his own 
amazement left Bob without breath for words. 
The boy, with arms convulsively clasping his 
body, was imprinting kisses on Bob's waist* 

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coat, in default of reaching his face. At last 
Falloner managed gently but firmly to free 
himself, and turned a half-appealing, half- 
embarrassed look upon the young lady, whose 
own face, however, suddenly flushed pink. 
To add to the confusion, the boy, in some 
reaction of instinct, suddenly ran back to her, 
frantically clutched at her skirts, and tried to 
bury his head in their folds. 

"He don't love me," he sobbed. "He 
don't care for me any more." 

The face of the young girl changed. It 
was a pretty face in its flushing ; in the pale- 
ness and thoughtfulness that overcast it it 
was a striking face, and Bob's attention was for 
a moment distracted from the grotesqueness 
of the situation. Leaning over the boy she 
said, in a caressing, yet authoritative, voice : 
" Run away for a moment, dear, until I call 
you," opening the door for him in a maternal 
way so inconsistent with the youthfulness of 
her figure that it struck him even in his 
confusion. There was something also in 
her dress and carriage that equally affected 
him : her garments were somewhat old- 
fashioned in style, yet of good material, 
with an odd incongruity to the climate and 

Under her rough outer cloak she wore a 
polka jacket and the thinnest of summer 
blouses; and her hat, though dark, was of 
rough straw, plainly trimmed. Nevertheless, 
these peculiarities were carried off with an 
air of breeding and self-possession that was 
unmistakable. It was possible that her 
cool self-possession might have been due to 
some instinctive antagonism, for as she came 
a step forward with coldly and clearly-opened 
grey eyes, he was vaguely conscious that she 
didn't like him. Nevertheless, her manner 
was formally polite, even, as he fancied, to 
the point of irony, as she began, in a voice 
that occasionally dropped into the lazy 
Southern intonation, and a speech that easily 
slipped at times into Southern dialect : — 

" I sent the child out of the room as I 
could see that his advances were annoying to 
you, and a good deal, I reckon, because I 
knew your reception of them was still more 
painful to him. It is quite natural, I dare 
say, that you should feel as you do, and I 
reckon consistent with your attitude towards - 
him. But you must make some allowance 
for the depth of his feelings, and how he has 
looked forward to this meeting. When I 
tell you that ever since he received your last 
letter, he and his sister — until her illness 
kept her home — had gone every day when 
the Pacific train was due to the station to 

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meet you ; that they have taken literally as 
Gospel truth every word of your letter " 

" My letter ? " interrupted Falloner. 

The young girl's scarlet lip curled slightly. 
" I beg your pardon — I should have said the 
letter you dictated. Of course it wasn't in 
your handwriting — you had hurt your hand, 
you know," she added, ironically. "At all 
events, they believed it all — that you were 
coming at any moment ; they lived in that 
belief, and the poor things went to the station 
with your photograph in their hands so that 
they might be the first to recognise and greet 

" With my photograph ? " interrupted 
Falloner, again. 

The young girl's clear eyes darkened 
ominously. " I reckon," she said, deliberately, 
as she slowly drew from her pocket the 
photograph Daddy Folsom had sent, "that 
that is your photograph. It certainly seems 
an excellent likeness," she added, regarding 
him with a slight suggestion of contemptuous 

In an instant the revelation of the whole 
mystery flashed upon him ! The forgotten 
passage in Houston's letter about the stolen 
photograph stood clearly before him ; the 
coincidence of his appearance in Shepherds- 
town and the natural mistake of the children 
and their fair protector were made perfectly 
plain. But with this relief and the certainty 
that he could confound her with an ex- 
planation came a certain mischievous desire 
to prolong the situation and increase his 
triumph. She certainly had not shown him 
any favour. 

" Have you got the letter also ? " he asked, 

She whisked it impatiently from her pocket 
and handed it to him. As he read Daddy's 
characteristic extravagance and recognised 
the familiar idiosyncrasies of his old com- 
panions he was unable to restrain a smile. 
He raised his eyes, to meet with surprise the 
fair stranger's levelled eyebrows and brightly 
indignant eyes, in which, however, the rain 
was fast gathering with the lightning. 

" It may be amusing to you, and I reckon 
likely it was all a California joke/ 1 she said, 
with slightly trembling lips ; " I don't know 
No'thern gentlemen and their ways, and you 
seem to have forgotten our ways as you have 
your kindred. Perhaps all this may seem so 
funny to them : it may not seem funny to 
that boy who is now crying his heart out in 
the hall; it may not be very amusing to 
that poor Cissy in her sick bed longing to see 
her brother. It may be so far from amusing 

Original from 



to her that I should hesitate to bring 
you there in her excited condition and 
subject her to the pain that you have caused 
him. But I have promised her ; she is 
already expecting us, and the disappoint- 
ment may be dangerous, and I can only 
implore you — for a few moments at least — 
to show a little more affection than you 
feel." As he made an impulsive, deprecating 
gesture, yet without changing his look of 
restrained amusement, she stopped him hope- 
lessly- " Oh, of course, yes, yes, I know it is 
years since you have seen them ; they have 
no right to expect more ; only— only — feel- 
ing as you do," she burst out impulsively, 
44 why— oh, why did you come ? " 


Here was Bob's chance* He turned to 
her politely j began gravely, " I simply came 
to — — " when suddenly his face changed ; he 
stopped as if struck by a blow. His cheek 
flushed, and then paled ! Good God ! 
What had he come for ? To tell them that 

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this brother they were longing for — living 
for—perhaps even dying for — was dead I In 
his crass stupidity, his wounded vanity over 
the scorn of the young girl, his anticipation 
of triumph, he had forgotten — totally for- 
gotten—what that triumph meant ! Perhaps 
if he had felt more keenly the death of 
Lasham the thought of it would have been 
uppermost in his mind ; but Lasham was not 
his partner or associate, only a brother 
miner, and his single act of generosity was in 
the ordinary routine of camp life. If she 
thought him cold and heartless before, what 
would she think of him now? The absurdity 
of her mistake had vanished in the grim 
tragedy he had seemed to have cruelly 
prepared for her. The thought 
struck him so keenly that he 
stammered, faltered* and sank 
helplessly into a chair. 

The shock that he had re- 
ceived was so plain to her 
that her own indignation went 
out in the breath of it. Her 
lip quivered* ** Don*t you 
mind/' she said, hurriedly^ 
dropping into her Southern 
speech ; " I didn't go to hurt 
you, but I was just that mad 
with the thought of those 
pickaninnies, and the easy way 
you took it, that I clean 
forgot Fd no call to catechize 
you ! And you don't know 
me from the Queen of Sheba. 
Well," she went on, still more 
rapidly, and in odd distinction 
to her previous formal slow 
Southern delivery, " I'm the 
daughter of Colonel Bou telle, 
of Bayou Sara, Louisiana, and 
his paw, and his paw before 
him, had a plantation there 
since the time of Adam, but 
he lost it and six hundred 
niggers during the Wah ! We 
were pooh as poohverty — paw 
and maw and we four girls — 
and no more idea of work 
than a baby. But I had an 
education at the convent at 
New Orleans, and could play, 
and speak French, and I got 
a place as school-teacher here : I reckon the 
first Southern woman that has taught school 
in the NVth ! Ricketts, who used to be our 
steward at Bayou Sara, told me about the 
pickaninnies, and how helpless they were with 
only a brother who occasionally sent them 

Original from 



money from California. I suppose I cottoned 
to the pooh little things at first because I knew 
what it was to be alone amongst strangers, Mr. 
Lasham ; I used to teach them at odd times 
and look after them, and go with them to 
the train to look for you. Perhaps Ricketts 
made me think you didn't care for them; 
perhaps I was wrong in thinking it was true, 
from the way you met Jimmy just now. But 
I've spoken my mind — and you know why." 
She ceased and walked to the window. 

Falloner rose. The storm that had swept 
through him was over ! The quick determi- 
nation, resolute purpose, and infinite patience 
which had made him what he was were all 
there, and with it a conscientiousness which 
his selfish independence had hitherto kept 
dormant He accepted the situation not 
passively — it was not in his nature — but threw 
himself into it with all his energy. 

" You were quite right,** he said, halting a 
moment beside her ; " I don't blame you y and 
let me hope that later you may think me less 
to blame than you do now. Now, what's to 
be done? Clearly, IVe first to make it right 
with Tommy — I mean Jimmy — and then we 
must make a straight dash over to the girl ! 
Whoop ! n Before she could understand from 
his face the strange change in his voice, he 
had dashed out of the room. In a moment 
he reappeared with the boy struggling in his 
arms. *' Think of the little scamp not know- 
ing his own brother ! ** he laughed, giving 
the boy a really affectionate, if slightly ex- 
aggerated, hug, 4t and expecting me to open 
my arms to the first little boy who jumps 
into them ! I've a great mind not to give him 
the present I fetched all the way from Cali- 
fornia. Wait a moment" He dashed into 
the bedroom, opened his valise — where he 
providentially remembered he had kept, with 
a miner's superstition* the first little nugget 
of gold he had ever found — seized the tiny 
bit of quartz and gold, and dashed out again 
to display it before Jimmy s eager eyes. 

If the heartiness, sympathy, and charming 
kindness of the man's whole manner and 
face convinced, even while it slightly startled, 
the young girl it was still more effective with 
the boy. Children are quick to detect the 
false ring of affected emotion, and Bobs 
was so genuine — whatever its cause — that it 
might have easily passed for a fraternal 
expression with harder critics. The child 
trustfully nestled against him and would have 
grasped the gold, but the young man whisked 
it into his pocket ** Not unol we've shown 
it to our little sister — where were going now ! 
Im off to order a sleigh. * He dashed out 

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again to the office as if he found some relief 
in action, or as it seemed to Miss Boutelle 
to avoid embarrassing conversation. When 
he came back again he was carrying an 
immense bearskin from his luggage. He 
cast a critical look at the girl's unseasonable 

" I shall wrap you and Jimmy in this — you 
know it's snowing frightfully ! " 

Miss Boutelle flushed a little. " I'm warm 
enough when walking," she said, coldly. 
Bob glanced at her smart little French shoes, 
and thought otherwise. He said nothing, 
but hastily bundled his two guests down- 
stairs and into the street. The whirlwind 
dance of the snow made the sleigh an in- 
distinct bulk in the gathering darkness, and 
as the young girl for an instant stood dazedly 
still, Bob incontinently lifted her from her feet, 
deposited her in the vehicle, dropped Jimmy 
in her lap, and wrapped them both tighdy in 
the bearskin. Her weight, which was scarcely 
more than a child's, struck him in that 
moment as being tantalizingly incongruous 
to the matronly severity of her manner and 
its strange effect upon him. He then jumped 
in himself, taking the direction from his 
companion, and drove off through the storm. 

The wind and darkness were not favour- 
able to conversation, and only once did he 
break the silence. "Is there anyone who 
would be likely to remember — me — where 
we are going ? n he asked, in a lull of the 

Miss Boutelle uncovered enough of her 
face to glance at him curiously. w Hardly ! 
You know the children came here from the 
No'th after your mother's death, while you 
were in California. v 

" Of course," returned Boh, hurriedly ; " I 
was only thinking — you know that some of 
my old friends might have called," and then 
collapsed into silence: 

After a pause a voice came icily, although 
under the furs : u Perhaps you'd prefer that 
your arrival be kept secret from the public ? 
But they seem to have already recognised 
you at the hotel from your inquiry about 
Ricketts, and the photograph Jimmy had 
already shown them two weeks ago." Bob 
remembered the clerk's familiar manner and 
the omission to ask him to register. * 4 But 
it need go no further, if you like,~ she added, 
with a slight return of her previous scorn. 

** I ve no reason for keeping it secret,* said 
Bob, stoudy. 

No other words were exchanged until the 
sleigh drew up before a plain wooden boose 
in the suburbs of the town. Bob could 

Original from 



at a glance that it represented the income of 
some careful artisan or small shopkeeper, and 
that it promised little for an invalid's luxurious 
comfort They were ushered into a chilly 
sitting-room, and Miss Boutelle ran upstairs 
with Jimmy to prepare the invalid for Bob's 
appearance. He noticed that a word dropped 
by the woman who opened the door made 
the young girl's face grave again, and paled 
the colour that the storm had bufleted to 
her cheek. He noticed also that these plain 
surroundings seemed only to enhance her 
own superiority, and that the woman treated 
her with a deference in odd contrast to 
the ill-concealed disfavour with which she 
regarded him. Strangely enough, this latter 
fact was a relief to his conscience. It would 
have been terrible to have received their 

intermittently conscious, but had asked to 
see him. It was a short flight of stairs to 
the bedroom, but before he reached it Bob's 
heart beat faster than it had in any mountain 
climb. In one corner of the plainly fur- 
nished room stood a small truckle bed, and 
in it lay the invalid. It needed but a single 
glance at her flushed face in its aureole of 
yellow hair to recognise the likeness to Jimmy, 
although, added to that strange refinement 
produced by sufferings there was a spiritual 
exaltation in the child's look —possibly from 
delirium— that awed and frightened him. An 
awful feeling that he could not lie to this 
hopeless creature took possession of him, and 
his step faltered. But she lifted her small 
arms pathetically towards him as if she 
divined his trouble, and he sank on his 


kindness under false pretences ; to take their 
just blame of the man he personated seemed 
to mitigate the deceit 

The young girl rejoined him presently, with 
troubled eyes. Cissy was worse, and only 

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knees beside her. With a tiny finger curled 
around his long moustache, she lay there 
silent Her face was full of trustfulness, 
happiness, and consciousness — but she spoke 
no word. 

Original from 



There was a pause, and Falloner, slightly 
lifting his head without disturbing that faintly 
clasping finger, beckoned Miss Boutelle to 
his side. " Can you drive ? " he said, in a 
low voice. 


" Take my sleigh and get the best doctor 
in town to come here at once. Bring him 
with you if you can ; if he can't come at 
once, drive home yourself. I will stay here." 

" But " hesitated Miss Boutelle. 

" I will stay here," he repeated. 

The door closed on the young girl, and 
Falloner, still bending over the child, pre- 
sently heard the sleigh-bells pass away in the 
storm. He still sat with his bent head held 
by the tiny clasp of those thin fingers. But 
the child's eyes were fixed so intently upon 
him that Mrs. Ricketts leaned over the 
strangely-assorted pair and said : — 

11 It's your brother Dick, dearie. Don't 
you know him ? " 

The child's lips moved faintly. "Dick's 
dead," she whispered. 

" She's wandering," said Mrs. Ricketts. 
" Speak to her." But Bob, with his eyes on 
the child's, lifted a protesting hand. The 
little sufferer's lips moved again. " It isn't 
Dick — it's the angel God sent to tell me." 

She spoke no more. And when Miss 
Boutelle returned with the doctor she was 
beyond the reach of finite voices. Falloner 
would have remained all night with them, 
but he could see that his presence in the 
contracted household was not desired. Even 
his offer to take Jimmy with him to the hotel 
was declined, and at midnight he returned 

What his thoughts were that night may be 
easily imagined. Cissy's death had removed 
the only cause he had for concealing his real 
identity. There was nothing more to prevent 
his revealing all to Miss Boutelle and to offer 
to adopt the boy. But he reflected this could 
not be done until after the funeral, for it was 
only due to Cissy's memory that he should 
still keep up the rdle of Dick Lasham as 
chief mourner. If it seems strange that 
Bob did not at this crucial moment take 
Miss Boutelle into his confidence, I fear 
it was because he dreaded the personal 
effect of the deceit he had practised upon 
her more than any ethical consideration ; she 
had softened considerably in her attitude 
towards him that night ; he was human, after 
all, and while he felt his conduct had been 
unselfish in the main, he dared not confess 
to himself how much her opinion had in- 
fluenced him. He resolved that after the 

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funeral he would continue his jourriey, and 
write to her, en route, a full explanation of 
his conduct, inclosing Daddy's letter as cor- 
roborative evidence. But on searching his 
letter-case he found that he had lost even 
that evidence, and he must trust solely at 
present to her faith in his improbable story* 

It seemed as if his greatest sacrifice was 
demanded at the funeral ! For it could not 
be disguised that the neighbours were 
strongly prejudiced against him. Even the 
preacher improved the occasion to warn the 
congregation against the dangers of putting 
off duty until too late. And when Robert 
Falloner, pale, but self-restrained, left the 
church with Miss Boutelle, equally pale and 
reserved, on his arm, he could with difficulty 
restrain his fury at the passing of a significant 
smile across the faces of a few curious 
bystanders. "It was Amy Boutelle that 
was the ' penitence ' that fetched him, you 
bet ! " he overheard, a barely concealed 
whisper ; and the reply, " And it's a good 
thing she's made out of it, too, for he's 
mighty rich ! " 

At the church door he took her cold hand 
into his. " I am leaving to-morrow morning 
with Jimmy," he said, with a white face. 
" Good-bye." 

"You are quite right; good-bye," she 
replied as briefly, but with the faintest colour. 
He wondered if she had heard it too. 

Whether she had heard or not, she went 
home with Mrs. Ricketts in some righteous 
indignation, which found — after the young 
lady's habit — free expression. Whatever were 
Mr. Lasham's faults of omission it was most 
un-Christian to allude to them there, and an 
insult to the poor little dear's memory who had 
forgiven them. Were she in his shoes she 
would shake the dust of the town off her feet ; 
and she hoped he would. She was a little 
softened on arriving to find Jimmy in tears. 
He had lost brother Dick's photograph — or 
Dick had forgotten to give it back at the hotel, 
for this was all he had in his pocket. And 
he produced a letter — the missing letter of 
Daddy, which by mistake Falloner had handed 
back instead of the photograph! Miss 
Boutelle saw the superscription and Califor- 
nian post-mark with a vague curiosity. 

" Did you look inside, dear ? Perhaps it 
slipped in." 

Jimmy had not. Miss Boutelle did — and 
I grieve to say, ended by reading the whole 

Bob Falloner had finished packing his 
things the next morning, and was waiting for 
Mr. Ricketts and Jimmy. But when a tap 

Original from 



came at the door, he opened it to find Miss 
Boutellc standing there. il I have sent Jimmy 
into the bedroom," she said, with a faint 
smile, " to look for the photograph which 
you gave him this in mistake for. I think 
for the present lie prefers his brother's picture 
to this letter, which I have not explained to 
him or anyone," She stopped, and raising 
her eyes to his said, gently : " I think it 
would have only been a part of your good- 
ness to have trusted me, Mr. Falloner," 

" Then you will forgive me ? " he said, 

She looked at him frankly, yet with a faint 
trace of coquetry that the angels might have 
pardoned. ** Do you want me to say to you 
what Mrs, Ricketts says were the last words 
of poor Cissy ? Jl 

A year later, when the darkness and rain 

were creeping up Sawyer's Ledge, and 
Houston and Daddy Folsom were sitting 
before their brush-wood fire in the old 
Lasham cab in } the latter delivered himself 
oracular ly : — 

il It's a mighty queer thing, that news about 
Bob ! It's not that he's married, for that 
might happen to anyone ; but this yer 
account in the paper of his wedding being 
attended by his i little brother. ' That gets 
me! To think all the while he was here he 
was lettin' on to us that he hadn't kith or 
kin ! Well, sir, that accounts to me for one 
thing — the singler way he tumbled to that 
letter of poor Dick LashanVs little brother and 
sent him that draft ! Don't ye see ? It was a 
feller feelin* ! Knew how it was himself ! 
I reckon ye all thought I was kinder soft 
reading that letter o* Dick LashanVs little 
brother to him, but ye see what it did." 

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Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 






GENTLEMEN of England who 
sit at ease on the benches of the 
House of Commons with public 
business commencing at half- 
past three and, save on special 
occasions, shutting up with a snap at 
midnight, can hardly realize the life of a 
member before the blessed era of the 
twelve o'clock rule, In these days, when 
Ministers under pressure of accumulated 
work and diminishing time move to suspend 
the twelve o'clock rule, they are met with 
loud protests and a division* So rooted is 
the distaste of modern M.P.'s to sit up 
after midnight that it frequently happens the 
abnormal extension of the sitting does not 
exceed the time occupied by protest against 
it That is to say, if members had not 
insisted on taking a division on the proposal 
they might, the appointed work com- 
pleted, have got home at twelve 
o'clock just as usual The twelve 
o'clock rule, like the closure, was 
avowedly introduced as an experi- 
ment* It would be a bold, indeed 
a doomed, Minister who would 
propose to abolish either. 

Whilst the labour of 
voting legislators is lightened 
supply, by the forms forced 
upon the House by the 
disguised blessing of Irish obstruc- 
tion, the amount of work accom- 
plished is at least equal to that 
achieved in any average Session 
under the old regime. At the same 
time, the conditions under which 
work is accomplished are more 
favourable to its fashioning, Under 
the old style, measures brought in 
by the Government of the day 
were met by the tactics of the 
Obstructionist, master of the 
situation against whatever preponderance of 
reasoned opinion. The only way to over- 
come him was by the fuller opportunity of 
sheer physical endurance provided by the 
system of relays. When the Obstructionist 
was worn out, usually at some early hour of 
the morning, a particular amendment or 
clause of a Bill passed. In many cases it 
had not been discussed, members having 
something useful to say being elbowed aside 
by the Obstructionists* 

Mr, Arthur Balfour is, with lessening 
vehemence, accused of burking debate 
because he strictly limits to something over 
a score the number of nights allotted to 
discussion in Committee of Supply, Every- 
one who pays close attention to the business 
of the House knows that since that rule was 
established, with its condition of giving one 
night a week to Committee from the begin- 
ning of the Session, Supply is more fully and 
intelligently discussed than at any earlier 
period within the memory of the oldest 

It is true that if at a specified date in 
August particular Votes have not been passed 
they are carried without debate by the 
automatic pressure of the closure. That is 
very sad. But exactly the same thing came 
to pass under the clumsier machinery of 
elder days. What happened then was pro- 


longation of the Session, a House kept by 
a few score of fagged members, a series of 
late sittings, and the Votes carried in their 
integrity after a prolonged squabble. 

It must not be forgotten in con- 
THE sidering labour conditions in the 

LENGTH OF House Qf Comm(>n& thatj though 

sittings. the House usua iiy adjourns at 
midnight, it, contrary to Charles Lamb's 
principle, makes up for it by meeting an 
hour earlier. Before the twelve o'clock rule 

by Google 

Original from 



was established the Speaker took the Chair 
at four o'clock in the afternoon. Now he is 
seated at three. One of the most laborious 
Sessions of modern limes was that of iSSr, 
when Mr, Gladstone, full of great schemes 
of legislative reform, was met by Irish 
obstruction, then in its palmiest days. 
Looking back I find that the average length 
of the daily sittings in that Session was nine 
hours and five minutes. Of these, not less 
than 238 hours and 35 minutes were, in the 
course of the Session, spent after mid- 
night I have not at hand information 
about the average length of the daily sittings 
last Session. But I should be surprised if 
they fell far short of the terrible times of 
nineteen years ago, with the important dif- 
ference that work was wound up before 

Previous to the Session of 1881, the House 
sat longest and latest in the quinquennial 
period, 1831 to 1836, That was the Reform 
epoch, when Sir Charles Wetherell, father 
and founder of Parliamentary obstruction as 
fifty years later practised by Mr. Parnell and 
Mr. Biggar> was to the fore. The House sat 
daily on the average for eight hours and forty 
minutes. After the spurt round the Reform 
Bill, exhausted nature sought repose, and 
for the next quinquennial period the average 
of sittings ran down to six hours and thirty- 
two minutes. It jumped up again in Corn 
I^aw time to a daily average exceeding eight 
hours, a state of things not paralleled till, 
after the General Election of 1868, Mr. 

Gladstone came in with a run, From 1872 
to 1876 the average daily sitting was extended 
to eight hours and four minutes. The time 
went on increasing till, as we have seen, in 
188 1 the sittings through 154 days, an ex- 
ceptionally long Session, exceeded an average 
of nine hours. 

TUTt uniT D What is the best hour for the 

daily meeting for business has 

*#«*™^ always been a troubled question 

MEETING, f .f TT r j^ L T 

for the House of Commons. In 
1833, the sitting hitherto commencing at 
four o'clock, a curious and long-forgotten 
expedient was tried. It was ordered that the 
House should meet at noon, adjourn at three 
o'clock resume its sittings at five, and sit the 
agenda out It would seem that human in- 
genuity could not hit upon a more incon- 
venient hour. It is true the dinner-hour 
was much earlier then. But dinner would 
not be ready in ordinary households between 
three and five in the afternoon. The 
arrangement lasted only for two Sessions, 
the House in 1835 going back to the four 
o'clock arrangement. 

Disraeli did not enter the House till this 
experiment had been dead for two Sessions. 
It must have been familiar to him, and was 
probably the germ of the scheme of morning 
Sessions invented by him and established in 
1867- Here the hours were more sanely 
selected, the House now, as then, meeting at 
two o'clock on Tuesdays and Fridays when 
morning sittings are appointed, the sitting 
being suspended between seven o'clock and 
nine, The Wednesday sitting does not date 
farther back than 1845. Up to that date the 
sittings on Wednesdays were fixed for the 
evening, like other days. In that year it was 
ordered that the House should, on Wednes- 
days, meet at noon, rising at six, 
,,~ ^. r The familiar story of the barrister 

MR, GLAD- I j l u^ c j= 

^ , who acquired a habit of finger- 

s ro jj k s 


the thread of his discourse when 
the button was secretly and maliciously cut 
oflf, finds no parallel in the House of 
Commons, But whilst in no case is 
mannerism of the kind marked to exag- 
gerated extent, several frequent partici- 
pants in debate have certain tricks of action 
more or less indispensable to successful 
speech. Mr. Gladstone's gestures, like his 
other resources, were infinite. At one time 
— it was during the fever heat of the turbu- 
lent Parliament of 1SS0— 5 — he fell into a 
habit of emphasizing his points either by beat- 
ing his clenched fist into the open palm of 


ing a particular button when 
he was pleading, and who lost 



his left hand, or violently thumping the 
harmless box with open right hand. This 
last trick was recurrence to an earlier manner 
observation of which drew from Disraeli an 
expression of heartfelt thanksgiving that so 
substantial a piece of furniture as the table 
of the House of Commons separated him 
from the right hon, gentleman. 

In its fuller development the exercise 
became so violent it occasionally happened 
that the very point he desired especially to 
force on the attention of his audience was 
lost in the clamour of collision, Mr. Glad- 
stone was, of course, unconscious of this 
habit, as he was of another trick, manoeuvred 
by stretching his right arm to its 
full length, rigidly extending his 
fingers and lightly scratching the 
top of his head with his thumb- 

The Premier's colleagues 
on the Treasury 
Bench were so per- 
turbed by the fisticuff- 
ing, which frequently 
gave cause to the 
enemy to guffaw, that 
they proposed among 
themselves that one 
of them should deli- 
cately call his atten- 
tion to the matter. 
The proposal was 
pleasing, but who was 
to Ik 11 the cat? After 
fruitless discussion of 
this question in the 
inner camp, the Dean 
of Windsor, an old 
personal friend of Mr. 
Gladstone's, was 
meanly approached 
and induced to under- 
take the task. I don't 
know how the mission 
fared. Its curative 
effects were certainly 
not permanent 

Sir William Harcourt, while 

SOME addressing the House of Com- 

others. mons, has a persuasive habit of 

lightly swinging his eyeglasses 

suspended from his outstretched forefinger. 

He also, when occasion arises, thumps 

the box with mailed fist When he fires 

a heavy shot into the opposite camp he 

revolves swiftly on his heel, looking to right 

and left of the benches behind him in 

jubilant response to the cheers that applaud 


by dOOgle 

his success. Mr. Arthur Balfour, whose always 
growing perfection of Parliamentary debate 
sloughs off tricks of manner, is still some- 
times seen holding on to himself with both 
hands by the lapels of his coat, apparently 
afraid that otherwise he might run away 
before his speech was ended* A similar 
fancy is suggested by Mr* (Joschen's trick of 
feeling himself over, especially in the neigh- 
bourhood of the ribs. Finding he is all 
right {on the spot, so to speak), he proceeds 
to wash Ms hands with invisible soap in im* 
perceptible water 

Even more apologetic in manner when de- 
livering an excellent speech is Mr Lecky. If 

he had chanced to 
be born, like another 
Irish member long 
since departed, with- 
out arms or legs, he 
would be a much 
more effective 
debater. As it is there 
are arms and legs, 
even of exceptional 
length, and Mr. 
Lecky, whilst dis- 
coursing on high 
themes of politics, 
painfully conscious of 
their presence, mutely 
apologizes for their 

Lord George 
Hamilton explaining 
away Chitral cam* 
paigns, or other awk- 
ward things, with swift 
action and painful 
precisio n rear ra n ges 
the pages of his MS, 
notes. Using both 
hands to move a 
sheet off the box on 
to the table, he 
straightway, with 
equally anxious care, 
returns it. Sheets of 
paper have an irresistible fascination for the 
Secretary of State for India. Seated on 
Treasury lien eh following the debate, he 
occupies himself hour after hour in folding 
sheets of paper into strips, refolding thern 
lengthwise, and tearing them up in square 
inches. If his life, or even his office, 
depended on the mathematical accuracy of 
the square, he could not devote more time 
to its achievement 

Sir John Gorst, leaning an elbow on the 




box, turns his head slowly 
-to the left, then to the 
right, as if he were ex- 
pecting the entrance upon 
the scene of the corporate 
body of that mystic entity 
the Committee of Council. 
Lord Rosebery is a more 
marked offender than Sir 
John in the matter of the 
almost fatally ineffective 
habit of leaning an elbow 
on the table whilst address- 
ing the House* In the 
Lords the effect is more 
disastrous, since neither 
Ministers nor ex-Ministers 
have anything correspond- 
ing to the historic boxes 
on the table of the House 
of Commons. Sir John 
this attitude, has not to 
the height of the box* 


Gorst, falling into 

stoop lower than 

Lord Rosebery, 

lounging at the table of the House of Lords, 

is fain considerably to stoop, an attitude not 

attractive in itself or conducive to effective 

speaking* But then Lord Rosebery*s speech, 

whether in the House of 

Lords or elsewhere, is so 

precious and so welcome 

it does not matter how 

he chooses to stand in the 

act of delivery. 

Lord Salisbury has no 

gestures when he gets up 

to speak, but he makes up 

for the deficiency before he 

rises. It is easy to know 

when he intends to take 

part in a current debate. 

If he does, his right leg, 

crossed over his left knee, 

will be observed jogging at 

a pace equivalent to ten 

miles an hour on a level 

track. The working of this 

curious piece of machinery 

seems indispensable to the 

framing of the exquisitely 

pungent, perfectly -phrased 

sentences presently to be 

spoken without the assist- 

ance of written notes, 

Of all the tricks attendant upon 
speech in Parliament, the late 
Mr. Whalley, long time member 
for Peterborough, practised the 
strangest and the most inex- 
plicable* Whenever he rose to speak* and he 



was frequently on his legs 
when the Jesuits or the 
non-believers in the Tich- 
borne Claimant were to 
the fore, he thrice tapped 
with the knuckles of his 
right hand the bench 
before him. What this 
might portend, whether it 
was in the nature of an 
incantation or invocation, 
I cannot say, I can only 
testify thatj during the 
Parliament that met in 
1874 and was dissolved in 
1880* Mr. Whalley sat on 
the second bench behind 
the Opposition Leader 
immediately under my 
box in the Press Gallery, 
I closely watched for the uncanny movement, 
and never once saw him rise without the 
preliminary of this weird signal. 

Sir Algernon West in his Recol- 
" don't lections says, w Wheo on the 
happen to retirement of Mr, Denison from 
know HiM/'the Speakership of the House of 
Commons in 1872, Mr. Disraeli 
was told that Mr* Gladstone had 
selected Mr. Brand as his suo 
cessor, he said, 1 1 daresay he is 
a very good man, but I don't 
happen ever to have seen him/ " 
A moment's reflection will 
show that unless Disraeli is 
assumed to have told a deliberate 
and purposeless 
falsehood* this 
rumour cannot be 
true. At the time 
of his election to 
the Chair, Mr. 
Brand had held 
a seat in the 
House of Com- 
mons for twenty 
years. For nine 
years, from 1859 
to 1868, he was 
chief Whip of the 
Liberal Party, 
Concurrently Mr. 
Disraeli was in 
succession Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
Prime Minister, and Leader of the House. 
To suppose the Leader of 
Commons "didn't happen 
seen " the Opposition Whip, 


House of 
ever to have 
one of whose 


by V^OOgie 

duties is to march up to the Table with the 
Original from 


3? fi 


other tellers on big party divisions, is too 
great a strain on credulity. 

It is, however, true that when the 
a dakk present Speaker's name came 
horse, to the front, as the Government 

nominee for the Chair vacated 
by Mr. Peel, there were many members who 
would have been nonplussed if they had 
been called upon to pick him out. I re- 
member, shortly after his election, Mr. 
Arthur Balfour telling rue that, at dinner on 
the evening of the day authoritative notice 
was published of intention to nominate Mr. 


Gully for the Chair, Mr. Chamberlain asked 
him what sort of a man the candidate was* 
Mr Balfour was obliged to admit that as far 
as he knew he had never set eyes upon 
him, Mr. Chamberlain confessing to a simi- 
lar state of ignorance. 

During the storm and stress of 


obstruction in Pamelas palmy 
days a strange accident befell one 
of his faithful followers. He 
had devoted much time and the appliance of 
native genius to the preparation of a speech 
in a current debate. In order that the area 
of humanity benefiting might be as large as 
possible, he arranged with the editor of the 
newspaper circulating among his constituency 
in the West of Ireland for a verbatim report. 
This was made possible by the simple and 
inexpensive means of furnishing the paper in 
advance with a copy of his speech. By way 
of precaution against misadventure, it was 
arranged that unless a telegram reached the 
office by midnight announcing postponement 
the report should be inserted in the morning's 

It happened that out of embarrassment of 
riches in the way of obstruction the IrisK 
members on this night broke out in a fresh 

Digitized by GoOS I C 

place. Moving the adjournment they upset 
the ordered arrangement of business, occupy- 
ing the evening with the newly launched 
wrangle. Meanwhile their colleague, with 
the MS. of his oration in his breast-pocket, 
and painfully conscious of another copy in 
type in the newspaper office* sat upon 
thorns. At any moment the irregular debate 
on the adjournment might close, the Order 
of the Day might be called on, and with it 
would come opportunity of delivering his 

Just after eleven o'clock this turn of 
events seemed close at 
hand. But the conver- 
sation dragged on, and 
at half-past eleven the 
worn-out watcher, giving 
up in despair, tele- 
graphed to hold back 
the report. Unfortu- 
nately it was a stormy 
night outside as well 
as inside the House of 
Commons. The mess- 
age was not delivered 
till the paper had gone 
to press with a fulL 
report of ** our hon, 
members speech in the 
House of Commons last 
night," supplemented by some editorial re- 
flections on the influence it was likely to 
have on the course of public affairs and the 
conscience of the Chief Secretary, 

That was bad enough. Worse still was 
the circumstance that the sub-editor, reading 
the proof, had plentifully interpolated 
11 cheers," "laughter," "loud laughter," cries 
of u Oh ! oh I" these last from the Minis- 
terialists writhing under the lash of our 
hon. member's oratory, 

There is nothing new under the 
sun. A similar accident befell 
another and a greater Irishman, 
It was otherwise notable for the 
fact that it led to Thackeray's 
first appearance in print It befell when he 
was a lad, some fifteen years old, staying 
with his stepfather, Major Smyth, who, turn- 
ing his sword into a ploughshare, settled 
down as a gentleman farmer in Devonshire. 
Ottery St. Mary is the name of the district 
in the matter-of-fact "Postal Guide," Later, 
in a work of even greater circulation, it 
became famous as Clavering St. Mary, " the 
little old town p in which Pendennis was 

It happened that Lalor Shell, the Irish 

Original from 




1 pome/ 



orator, proposed to advocate the policy 
of emancipation at a mass meeting on 
Peneden Heath, in Kent When he pre- 
sented himself to deliver his discourse 
there burst forth an outcry that prevented 
a sentence being heard beyond the limits of 
the cart on which he stood. Happily he 
had observed the precaution before leaving 
town of sending to the morning papers a 
copy of his projected speech. Accordingly, 
though unspoken at Peneden, it appeared in 
the morning newspapers in verbatim form. 

Boy Thackeray thus described the inci- 
dent : — 

He strove to speak, but the men of Kent 
Began a grievous shouting ; 

When out of the waggon the little man went 
And put a stop to his spouting. 

" What though these heretics heard me not," 

Quoth he to his friend Canonical, 
" My speech is safe in the Times t I wot, 

And eke in the Morning Chronicle" 

note ^ ^ estf k^ 01 " Sheil was not 

of here- •WP 6 * b y Nature for the 
dity difficult task of addressing a 
mass meeting out of doors. Mr. 
Gladstone, who heard many of his speeches, 
and had a profound admiration for his 
eloquence, described his voice as "resem- 
bling the sound of a tin kettle beaten about 
from place to place." 

There is a curious note of heredity in the 
fact that his kinsman and successor in the 
House of Commons, Mr. Edward Sheil, was 
equally weak in the matter of voice. Once 
he managed to deliver a long speech without 
sound of voice. 

He acted as Whip to the party, a post for 
which he had the prime qualification of being 
popular on both sides of the House. As 
Whip, he was not expected to contribute 
to the campaign of speech-making carried on 
by his colleagues with a view to obstructing 
public business. As a rule he availed himself 
of his privilege, remaining a silent spectator 
of the fun. 

One night, after prolonged sitting, when 
the ordinary contributors to speech-making 
from the Irish side were worn out, Mr. Sheil 
gallantly undertook to hold the field whilst 
his comrades had a brief rest. He rose from 
the third bench below the gangway on the 
Opposition side. The Speaker had called 
him ; he was in possession of the House, and 
members turned with languid interest to hear 
what he might have to say. 

A dead silence fell over the Chamber. 
Members looking more closely to see why 
Mr. Sheil had not commenced his speech 
observed that his lips were moving. Also, 

from time to time, he with outstretched arm 
enforced by gesture a point he thought he 
had made. But not a whisper escaped his 
lips. After a while members beginning to 
enter into the fun of the thing cried, " Hear ! 
hear ! " Thus encouraged, Mr. SheiFs ora- 
torical action became more forcible and 
frequent, but never a sound from his lips was 
heard. The scene went on for fully a quarter 
of an hour, amid rapturous cheering from the 
delighted House, Mr. Sheil resuming his 
seat with the air of a man who felt he had 
spoken to the point 

a private Amon 8 L ^ Granville's papers 
(when are we to have his 
memoirs?) will be found a 


by V_ 



letter written to him by the 

late Lord Stanhope, dated from 
"Chevening, October, i866. M Lord Gran- 
ville had recently come into the office, more 
prized than the Foreign Seals, of Lord 
Warden of the Cinque Ports. The late Lord 
Stanhope was born almost within the pre- 
cincts of Walmer Castle, Mr. Pitt, then Lord 
Warden, having on their marriage lent his 
father and mother the cottage which stands 
close to the entrance of the Castle grounds 
from the village side. As one familiar with 
Walmer Castle in the time of Pitt and the 
Duke of Wellington, Lord Granville asked 
Earl Stanhope to give him a few notes on 
the subject, a task cheerfully undertaken by 
the historian and genially accomplished/ 

One of the distinctions of Walmer 
pitt's Castle is that on a treeless coast 
room, its grounds are umbrageous. It 

was Pitt* who planted the trees, 
though he did not live long enough to sit 
under their shade. Pitt, with all the Castle 
wherein to choose, selected a curious room 
as his own. He might have had one facing 
either the sea or the south. His room to 
this day looks into the moat, and is faced by 
the dead wall that guards it. For more than 
thirty years the room was left exactly as it 
was when Pitt lay down ih it for the last time. 
The Queen and Prince Consort spent a 
portion of their honeymoon at Walmer 
Castle. In anticipation of the event a new 
dining-room was contrived by knocking down 
the wall of Pitt's room and joining it to the 
next one. When the young couple left the 
wall was re-built, and to-day Pitt's room is — 
or was in Lord Dufferin's day when I was a 
guest at the Castle-— the habitat of the house- 

Long before her time the room had quite 
another occupant. Lord Stanhope, in the 
letter quoted from, says, "Wellington told 





me that when he received a visit from Prince 
Talleyrand at Walmer Castle, Talleyrand 
asked particularly to occupy Mr. Pitt's room, 
and seemed to live there in some sense of 
triumph. His idea was that he had been 
treated rather slightingly by Mr, Pitt when 
he came over as secretary to M. Chacevelin 
in 1792, and that to sleep in his rival's bed 
was like taking a revanche* 

That is, perhaps, rather a fanciful con- 
clusion. In the circumstances Pitt's pro- 
founder sleep was not likely to be disturbed 
by reflections on the fact that Talleyrand was 
tucking himself up in his old bed at Walmer 

The room in which the Duke of 
Wellington slept and died has 
not since been occupied by any 
lesser mortal Thanks to the 
loyalty and liberality of Mr, 
W. H. Smith, the room has been reinstated 
in something like the condition in which 
the Duke left it In matter of proportions 
and outlook it is not much better than Pitt's. 
It is furnished with the stern simplicity of a 

When Mr* W. H. Smith was nomi- 
nated to the Lord Wardenship in succession 
to Pitt, Wellington, Palmerston, and Lord 
Granville, lie found that the fixings of 
Walmer Castle, memorials of the daily life 
of the mighty dead, did not pertain to 
the Castle. They were "taken over/' like 
ordinary fixtures, by successive tenants, upon 
payment of their valuation. 

Lord Pa I in erst on, when he became Lord 
Warden, did not want the Duke of Welling- 


of Well- 

by Google 

ton's boots or his bedstead. 
Nor was he disposed to fork 
out £>% for the quaint-looking 
chair in which Pitt often 
sat meditating on Napoleon's 
triumphal march through 
Europe. The priceless relics 
were accordingly distributed 

Happily the present Duke 
of Wellington obtained all 
pertaining to his father, and 
liberally joined Mr. W- H. 
Smith in reinstating them. 
Things seem a little out of 
joint when we reflect that the 
dispersal of these historic 
relics took place under the 
regime of the blue-blooded 
aristocrat Viscount Palmer- 
ston, and that their restora- 
tion was painstakingly accom- 
plished by a tradesman from the Strand, W,C- 
In the smoking - room of the 
"name! House of Commons there is a 
name ! " simple device whereby is spelled 
out the names of members as 
they successively address the House, Just 
as in travelling on the District Railway the 
name of the approaching station is displayed 
and stands in view till the point is passed, 
so whilst a member is on his legs in the 
House of Commons his name is shining over 
the fireplace of the smoking-room as if he 
were Bovril or Yinolia soap. 

This arrangement is so convenient that it 
might well be extended. It would be of 
especial use in the Central Lobby, where 
members drop out for a chat whilst Mr. Cald- 
well or Sir Ellis Ash mead-Bart lett is on his 
legs. That is all very well, but it may happen 
that either of these gentlemen is succeeded 
by a member whose speech one would not 
like to miss. The danger would be averted 
if at some convenient point in the Lobby the 
names of speakers were set forth as they are 
in the smoking-room* 

I have been much struck by an 
a isi/nxi- observation, contributed by a 
teox. well-known Irishman, to a con- 
versation upon the qualifications 
necessary for an Irish member. 

"There are," said he, li three classes of 
people from whom the Irish member may be 
best recruited — millionaires, who can afford 
it : paupers, who have nothing to lose ; and 
fools of all descriptions." 

An Englishman mustn't say things of that 
kind. An Irishman may, and does. 

Original from 

The Brass Bottle. 

By F. Anstey. 

Author of " Vice-Versd" etc., etc. 



| OST men on suddenly finding 
themselves in possession of 
such enormous wealth would 
have felt some elation. Ven- 
timore, as we have seen, 
was merely exasperated. And, 
although this attitude of his may strike the 
reader as incomprehensible or absolutely 
wrong-headed, he had more reason on his 
side than might appear at a first view. 

It was undoubtedly the fact that, with the 
money these treasures represented, he would 
be in a position to convulse the money 
markets of Europe and America, bring 
society to his feet, make and unmake king- 
doms — dominate, in short, the entire world. 

14 But, then," as Horace told himself 
with a groan, "it wouldn't amuse me in 
the least to convulse money markets. Do I 
want to see the smartest people in London - 
grovelling for anything they think they're 
likely to get out of me ? As I should be 
perfectly well aware that their homage was 
not paid to any personal merit of mine, I 
could hardly consider it flattering. And 
why should I make kingdoms? The only 
thing I understand and care about is making 
houses. Then, am I likely to be a better hand 
at dominating the world than all the others 
who have tried the experiment ? I doubt it." 

He called to mind all the millionaires he 
had ever read or heard of ; they didn't seem 
to get much fun out of their riches. The 
majority of them were martyrs to dyspepsia. 
They were often weighed down by the cares 
and responsibilities of their position ; the 
only people who were unable to obtain an 
audience of them at any time were their 
friends ; they lived in a glare of publicity, 
and every post brought them hundreds of 
begging letters, and a few threats ; their 
children were in constant danger from 
kidnappers, and they themselves, after know- 
ing no rest in life, could not be certain that 
even their tombs would be undisturbed. 
Whether they were extravagant or thrifty, 
they were equally maligned, and, whatever 
the fortune they left behind them, they could 
be absolutely certain that, in a couple of 
generations, it would be entirely dissipated. 
" And the biggest millionaire living," con- 
Copyright, 1900, in the United States 

Digitized by LiOOQlC 

eluded Horace, " is a pauper compared with 

But there was another consideration — how 
was he to realize all this wealth ? He knew 
enough about precious stones to be aware 
that a ruby, for instance, of the true " pigeon's 
blood " colour and the size of a melon, as all 
these rubies were, would be worth, even 
when cut, considerably over a million; but 
who would buy it ? 

"I think I see myself," he reflected, 
grimly, "calling on some diamond merchant 
in Hatton Garden with half-a-dozen assorted 
jewels in a Gladstone bag. If he believed 
they were genuine, he'd probably have a 
fit ; but most likely he'd think I'd invented 
some dodge for manufacturing them, and had 
been fool enough to overdo the size. Any- 
how, he'd want to know how they came into 
my possession, and what could I say ? That 
they were part of a little present made to 
me by a Jinnee in grateful acknowledgment 
of my having relieved him from a brass 
bottle in which he'd been shut up for nearly 
three thousand years ! Look at it how you 
will, it's not convincing. I fancy I can 
guess what he'd say. And what an ass I 
should look ! Then suppose the thing got 
into the papers ?" 

Got into the papers ? Why, of course it 
would get into the papers. As if it were 
possible in these days for a young and 
hitherto unemployed architect suddenly to 
surround himself with wondrous carpets, and 
gold vessels, and gigantic jewels, without 
attracting the notice of some enterprising 
journalist He would be interviewed; the 
story of his curiously acquired riches would 
go the round of the papers ; he would find 
himself the object of incredulity, suspicion, 
ridicule. In imagination he could already 
see the head-lines on the news-sheets : — 
And so on, through every phrase of allitera- 
tive ingenuity. He ground his teeth at the 
mere thought of it. Then Sylvia would come 
to hear of it, and what would she think ? 
She would naturally be repelled, as any nice- 
minded girl would be, by the idea that her 
lover was in secret alliance with a super- 

of America, by D. Appleton & Co. 




natural being And her father and mother — 
would they allow her to marry a man* 
huwever rich, whose wealth came from such a 
questionable source? No one would believe 
that he had not made some unholy bargain 
before consenting to set this incarcerated 
spirit free — he, who had acted in absolute 
ignorance, who had persistently declined all 
reward after realizing what he had done ! 

No, it was too much. Try as he might to 
do justice to the Jinnee's gratitude and 
generosity, he could not restrain a bitter 
resentment at the utter want of consideration 
shown in overloading him with gifts so 
useless and so compromising. No Jinnee— 
however old, however unfamiliar with the 
world as it is now— had any right to be such 
a fool ! 

And at this, above the ramparts of sacks 
and bales, which occupied all the 
available space in the room, 
appeared Mrs. Rapkin's face. 

u I was going to ask you, sir t 
before them parcels came, 


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began, with a dry cough of disapproval, 
" what you would like in the way of ongtray 
to-morrow night, I thought if I could find a 
sweetbread at all reasonable— — " 

To Horace — surrounded as he was by 
incalculable riches — sweetbreads seemed 
incongruous just then ; the transition of 
thought was too violent. 

H I can't bother about that now, Mrs, 
Rapkin," he said ; " we'll settle it to-morrow. 
Fm too busy/' 

" I suppose most of these things will have 
to go back, sir, if they're only sent on approval 

If he only knew where and how he could 
send them back! "I — I'm not sure/' he 
said ; " I may have to keep them." 

" Well, sir, bargain or none, I wouldn't 
have 'em as a gift myself, being so dirty and 
fusty ; they can't be no use 
to nobody, not to mention 
there being no room to 
move with them blocking 
up all the place. I'd better 
tell Rapkin to carry } em all 
upstairs out of people's 

"Certainly not/' said 
Horace, sharply, by no means 
anxious for the Rapkins to dis- 
cover the real nature of his 
treasures, " Don't touch them, 
either of you. Leave them 
exactly as they are, do you 
understand ? " 

"As you please, Mr, Venti- 
more, sir, only, if they're not 
to be interfered with, I don't 
see myself how you're going 
to set your friends down to 
dinner to-morrow, that's all." 

And, indeed, considering 
that the table and every avail 
able chair, and even the floor 
were heaped so high with 
valuables that Horace himself 
could only just squeeze his 
way between the piles, it did 
seeni a^ if his guests might 
find themselves inconveniently 

"It will be all right," he 
said, with an optimism he was 
very far from feeling; "we'll manage some- 
how — leave it to me." 

Before he left for his office he took the 
precaution to baffie any inquisitiveness on 
the part of his landlady by locking his sitting- 
room door and carrying away the key, but it 

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was in a very different mood from his former 
light-hearted confidence that he sat down to 
his drawing-board in Great Cloister Street 
that morning. . He could not concentrate his 
mind; his enthusiasm and his ideas had alike 
deserted him. •• 

He flung down the dividers he had been 
using and pushed away the nest of saucers of 
Indian ink and colours in a fit of petulance. 
"Its no good," he exclaimed, aloud; "I feel 
a perfect duffer this morning. I couldn't 
even design a decent dog-kennel ! " 

Even as he spoke he became conscious of 
a presence in the room, and, looking round, 
saw Fakrash the Jinnee standing at his elbow, 
smiling down on him more benevolently than 
ever, and with a serene expectation of being 
warmly welcomed and thanked, which made 
Horace rather ashamed of his own inability 
to meet it 

" He's a thoroughly good - natured old 
chap," he thought, self-reproachfully. " He 
means well, and I'm a beast not to feel more 
glad to see him. And yet, hang it all ! I 
can't have him popping in and out of the 
office like a rabbit whenever the fancy takes 

" Peace be upon thee," said Fakrash. 
" Moderate the trouble of thy heart, and 
impart thy difficulties to me." 

" Oh, they're nothing, thanks," said 
Horace, feeling decidedly embarrassed. " I 
got stuck over my work for the moment, 
and it worried me a little — that's all." " 

" Then thou hast not yet received the gifts 
which I commanded should be delivered at 
thy dwelling-place ? " 

"Oh, indeed I have!" replied Horace; 
" and — and I really don't know how to 
thank you for them." 

U A few trifling presents," answered the 
Jinnee, "and by no means suited to thy 
dignity — yet the best in my power to bestow 
upon thee for the time being." 

" My dear sir, they simply overwhelm me 
with their magnificence ! They're beyond all 
price, and — and I've no idea what to do with 
such a superabundance." 

"A superfluity of good things is good," 
was the Jinnee's sententious reply. 

"Not in my particular case. I — I quite 
feel your goodness and generosity ; but, 
indeed, as I told you before, it's really 
impossible for me to accept any such 

Fakrash's * brows contracted . slightly. 
"How. sayest thou that it is impossible — 
seeing that these things are already in thy 
possession ? " 

VoL xix.-36. 

Digitized by Google 

<4 I know," said Horace; "but — you won't 
be offended if I speak quite plainly ? " 

" Art thou not even as a son to me. and 
can I be angered at any words of thine ? " 

" Well," said Horace, with sudden hope, 
" honestly, then, I would very much rather — 
if you're sure you don't mind — that you 
would take them all back again." 

"What? Dost thou demand that I, 
Fakrash-el-Aamash, should consent to re- 
ceive back the gifts I have bestowed ? Are 
they then of so little value in thy sight ? " 

" They're of too much value. If I took 
such a reward for — for a very ordinary 
service, I should never be able to respect 
myself again." 

" This is not the reasoning of an intelligent 
person," said the Jinnee, coldly. 

" If you think me a fool, I can't help it 
I'm not an ungrateful fool, at all events. But 
I feel very strongly that I can't keep these 
gifts of yours." 

" So thou wouldst have me break the oath 
which I swore to reward thee fitly for thy 
kind action ? " 

" But you have rewarded me already," said 
Horace, "by contriving that a wealthy mer- 
chant should engage me to build him a 
residence. And— forgive my plain speaking 
— if you truly desire my happiness (as I am 
sure you do) you will relieve me of all these 
precious gems and merchandise, because, to 
be frank, they will not make me happy. On 
the contrary, they are making me extremely 

"In the days of old," said Fakrash, "all 
men pursued wealth ; nor could any amass 
enough to satisfy his desires. Have riches, 
then, become so contemptible in mortal eyes 
that thou findest them but an encumbrance ? 
Explain the matter." 

Horace felt a natural delicacy in giving 
his real reasons. " I can't answer for other 
men," he said. "All I know is that I've 
never been accustomed to being rich, and 
I'd rather get used to it gradually, and be 
able to feel that I owed it, as far as possible, 
to my own exertions. For, as I needn't tell 
you, Mr. Fakrash, riches alone don't make 
any fellow happy. You must have observed 
that they're apt to— well, to land him in all 
kinds of messes and worries. . . . I'm talking 
like a confounded copybook," he thought, 
" but I don't care how priggish I am if I 
can only get my way ! " 

Fakrash was deeply impressed. " Oh, 
young man of marvellous moderation ! " he 
cried. "Thy sentiments are not inferior to 
those of the Great Suleyman himself (on 




whom be peace !). Yet even he doth not 
utterly despise them } for he hath gold and 
ivory and precious stones in abundance. 
Nor hitherto have I ever met a human being 
capable of rejecting them when offered. 
Hut, since thou seemest sincere in holding 
that my poor arid paltry gifts will not 
advance thy welfare, and since I would do 
thee good and not evil— be it even as thou 
would st. For excellently was it said : L The 
worth of a present depends not on itself, nor 
on the giver, but on the receiver alone. 1 J 

Horace could hardly believe that hi had 
really prevailed. "It's, extremely good of 
you, sir," he said, u to take it so 
well. And if you could let that 
caravan call for them as soon as 
possible, it would be a great 
convenience to me. I mean — 
er— the fact is, I'm expecting a 
few friends to dine with me to- 
morrow t and, as my rooms are 
rather small at the best of times, 
I don't quite know how I can 
manage to entertain them at all 
unless something is done," 

11 It will be the easiest of 
actions," replied Fakrashj "there- 
fore, have no fear that, when the 
time cometh, thou wilt not be 
able to entertain thy friends in 
manner. And for the caravan, it 
out without delay," 

" By Jove, though^ I'd forgotten one 
thing/' said Horace : " I've locked up the 
room where your presents are— -they won't 
be able to get in without the key," 

" Against the servants of the Jinn neither 
bolts nor bars can prevail They shall enter 
therein and remove all that they brought 
thee, since it is thy desire." 

"Very many thanks," said Horace. M And 
you do really understand that Fm every bit 
as grateful as if I could keep the things ? 
You see, I want all my time and all my 
energies to complete the designs for this 
building, which," he added, gracefully, " I 
should never be in a position to do at all, 
but for your assistance," 

"On my arrival," said Fakrash, "I heard 
thee lamenting the difficulties of the task — 
wherein do they consist? " 

M Oh/' said Horace, " it's a little difficult 
to please all the different people concerned, 
and myself too, I want to make something 
of it that I shall be proud of, and that will 
give me a reputation. It's a large house, and 
there will be a good deal of work in it — but 
I shall manage it all right." 

" This is a great undertaking indeed," 
remarked the Jinnee, after he had asked 
various by no means unintelligent ques- 
tions and received the answers. " But be 
persuaded that it shall all turn out most 
fortunately and thou shalt obtain great re- 
nown, And now," he concluded, " I am 

a fitting 
shall set 


compelled to take leave of thee, for I am 
still without any certain tidings of Suleyman." 

"You mustn't let me keep you," said 
Horace, who had been on thorns for some 
minutes lest Beevor should return and find 
him with his mysterious visitor, "You see," 
he added, instructively, " so long as you will 
neglect your own much more important 
affairs to look after mine, you can hardly 
expect to make much progress, can you ? JJ 

" How excellent is the saying," replied the 
Jinnee r " 'The time which is spent in doing 
kindnesses call it not wasted/" 

il Yes, that's very good," said Horace, 
feeling driven to silence this maxim, if 
possible^ with one of his own invention. " But 
we have a saying too — how does it go ? Ah, 
I remember, 'It is possible for a kindness 
to be more inconvenient than an injury.' " 

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11 Marvellously gifted was he who discovered 
such a saying ! " cried Fakrash. 

M I imagine," said Horace>"he learnt it 
from his own experience. By the way, what 
place were you thinking of drawing— I mean 
trying — next for Suleyman?" 

m I purpose to repair to Nineveh, and 
inquire there." 

li Capital," said Vent i more, with hearty 
approval, for he hoped that this would take 
the Jinnee some little time. " Wonderful 
city, Nineveh, from all I've heard— though 
not quite what it used to be, perhaps. Then 
there's Babylon — you might go on there. 
And if you shouldn't hear of him there, why 
not strike down into Central Africa, and do 
that thoroughly ? Or South America, it's a 
pity to lose any chance — you've never been 
to South America yet ? " 

" I have not so much as heard of such 
a country, and 
how should Suley- 
man be there ? " 

11 Pardon me, I 
didn't say he was 
there. All I 
meant to convey 
was, that he's 
quite as likely to 
be there as any- 
where else. But 
if youVe going to 
Nineveh first, 
you'd better lose 
no more time, for 
IVe always under- 
stood that it's 
rather an awkward 
place to get at — 
though, probably, 
you won't find it 
very difficult.'* 

" 1 care not," 
said Fakrash, 
"though the 
search be long, 
for in travel there 
are five advan- 
tages— — " 

u I know," in- 
terrupted Horace, 
"so don't stop 

to describe them now. I should like to 
see you fairly started, and you really mustn't 
think it necessary to break off your search 
again on my account, because, thanks to 
you, I shall get on splendidly alone for 
the future — if you'll kindly see that that 
merchandise is removed." 

" Thine abode shall not be encumbered 
with it for another hour," said the Jinnee. 
" Oh, thou judicious one, in whose estimation 
wealth is of no value, know that I have never 
encountered a mortal who pleased me as 
thou hast \ and moreover, be assured that 
such magnanimity as thine shall not go 
without a recompense ! J ' 

11 How often must I tell you," said Horace, 
in a glow of impatience, " that I am already 
much more than recompensed? Now, my 
kind, generous old friend," he added, with an 
emotion that was not wholly insincere, " the 
time has come to bid you farewell— for ever. 
Let me picture you as revisiting your former 
haunts, penetrating to quarters of the globe 
(for, whether you are aware of it or not, this 
earth of ours is a globe) hitherto unknown to 
you, refreshing your mind by foreign travel 
and the study of mankind— but never, never 

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for a moment losing sight of your main 
object, the eventual discovery of and recon- 
ciliation with Suleyman (on whom be peace !)* 
That is the only, the greatest, happiness you 
can give me now. Good-bye, and ban 
voyage I " 

" May Allah never deprive thy friends of 

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thy presence ! " returned the Jinnee, who was 
apparently touched by this exordium, " for 
truly thou art a most excellent young man ! " 

And stepping back into the fireplace, he 
was gone in an instant. 

Ventimore sank back in his chair with a 
sigh of relief. He had begun to fear that 
the Jinnee never would take himself off, but 
he had gone at last — and for good. 

He was half ashamed of himself for feel- 
ing so glad, for Fakrash was a good-natured 
old thing enough in his way* Only he would 
overdo things : he had no sense of proportion. 
"Why," thought Horace, "if a fellow ex- 
pressed a modest wish for a canary in a cage, 
he's just the sort of old Jinnee to bring him 
a whole covey of rocs in an aviary about ten 
times the size of the Crystal Palace. How- 
ever, he does understand now that I can't 
take anything more from him, and he isn't 
offended either, so thafs all settled. Now I 
can set to work and knock off these plans in 
peace and quietness." 

But he had not done much before he 
heard sounds in the next room which told 
him that Beevor had returned at last. He 
had been expected back from the country 
for the last day or two, and it was fortunate 
that he had delayed so long, thought Venti- 
more, as he went in to see him and to tell 
him the unexpected piece of good fortune 
that he himself had met with since they last 
met. It is needless to say that, in giving his 
account, he abstained from any mention of 
the brass bottle or the Jinnee, as unessential 
elements in his story. 

Beevor's congratulations were quite as 
cordial as could be expected, as soon as he 
fully understood that no hoax was intended. 
"Well, old man," he said, "I am glad. I 
really am, you know. To think of a prize 
like that coming to you the very first time ! 
And you don't even know how this Mr. 
Wackerbath came to hear of you — just hap- 
pened to see your name up outside and 
came in, I expect. Why, I daresay if I 
hadn't chanced to go away as I did — 
and about a couple of paltry two thousand 
pound houses, too ! Ah, well, I don't 
grudge you your luck, though it does seem 

rather It was worth waiting for ; you'll 

be cutting me out before long — if you don't 
make a mess of this job. I mean, you 
know, old chap, if you don't go and give 
your City man a Gothic castle when what he 
wants is something with plenty of plate-glass 
windows and a Corinthian portico. That's 
the rock I see ahead for you. You mustn't 
mind my giving you a word of warning ! " 

by Google 

"Oh, no," said Ventimore ; "but I sha'n't 
give him either a Gothic castle or plenty of 
plate-glass. I venture to think he'll be 
pleased with the general idea as I'm working 
it out." 

" Let's hope so," said Beevor. " If you 
get into any difficulty, you know," he added, 
with a touch of patronage, " just you come 
to me." 

"Thanks," said Horace, "I will. But 
I'm getting on very fairly at present." 

" I should rather like to see what you've 
made of it. I might be able to give you a 
wrinkle here and there." 

" It's awfully good of you, but I think I'd 
rather you didn't see the plans till they're 
quite finished," said Horace. The tnlth was 
that he was perfectly aware that the other 
would not be in sympathy with his ideas; 
and Horace, who had just been suffering 
from a cold fit of depression about his work, 
rather shrank from any kind of criticism. 

"Oh, just as you please ! " said Beevor, a 
little stiffly ; " you always were an obstinate 
beggar. I've had a certain amount of 
experience, you know, in my poor little 
pottering way, and I thought I might possibly 
have saved you a cropper or two. But if 
you think you can manage better alone — 
only don't get bolted with by one of those 
architectural hobbies of yours, that's all." 

" All right, old fellow. I'll ride my hobby 
on the curb," said Horace, laughing, as he 
went back to his own office, where he found 
that ail his former certainty and enjoyment 
of his work had returned to him, and by the 
end of the day he had made so much pro- 
gress that his designs needed only a few 
finishing touches to be complete enough for 
his client's inspection. 

Better still, on returning to his rooms that 
evening to change before going to Kensing- 
ton, he found that the admirable Fakrash 
had kept his promise — every chest, sack, and 
bale had been cleared away. 

" Them camels come back for the things 
this afternoon, sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, "and 
it put me in a fluster at first, for I made sure 
you'd locked your door and took the key. 
But I must have been mistook — leastways, 
them Arabs got in somehow. I hope you 
meant everything to go back?" 

"Quite," said Horace; "I saw the — the 
person who sent them this morning, and 
told him there was nothing I cared for 
enough to keep." 

"And like his impidence sending you a 
lot o' rubbish like that on approval — and on 
camels too ! " declared Mrs. Rapkin. " I'm 

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sure I don't know what them advertising 
firms will try next — pushing, I call it" 

Now that everything was gone, Horace 
felt a little natural regret and doubt whether 
he need have been quite so uncompromising 
in his refusal of the treasures, t[ I might 
have kept some of those tissues and things 
for Sylvia," he thought; "and she loves 
pearls* And a prayer-carpet would have 
pleased the Professor tremendously. But no, 
after all, it wouldn't have done. Sylvia 
couldn't go about in pearls the size of new 
potatoes, and the Professor would only have 
ragged me for more reckless extravagance. 
Besides, if I'd taken any of the Jinnee's 
gifts, he might keep on pouring more in, 
till I should be just where I was before— or 
worse off, really, because I couldn't decently 
refuse them, then, So it's best as it Is/' 

And really, considering his temperament 
and the peculiar nature of his position, it is 
not easy to see how he could have arrived at 
any other conclusion. 

by Google 


bachelor's quarters, 

Horace was feeling particularly happy as 

he walked back the next evening to 

Vincent Square, He had the consciousness 

of having done a good day's work, for the 

sketch plans for Mr. Waekerbath ? s mansion 

were actually completed and dispatched to 

his business address, while Horace now 

felt a comfortable assurance that his 

designs would more than satisfy his client, 

But it was not that which made him so 

light of heart, That night his rooms were 

to be honoured for the first time by Sylvia's 

presence. She would tread upon his carpet, 

sit in his chairs, comment upon, and perhaps 

even handle, his books and ornaments — and 

all of them would retain something of her 

charm for ever after If she only came ! For 

even now he could not quite believe that she 

really would; that some untoward event 

would not make a point of happening to 

prevent her, just as he sometimes doubted 

whether his engagement was not too sweet 

and wonderful to be true — or, at all events, 

to last, 

As to the dinner, his mind was tolerably 
easy, for he had settled the remaining details 
of the menu with his landlady that morning, 
and he could hope that, without being so 
sumptuous as to excite the Professor's wrath, 
it would still be not altogether unworthy— 
and what goods could be rare and dainty 
enough ?— to be set before Sylvia. 

He would have liked to provide cham- 
pagne, but he knew that that wine would 
savour of ostentation in the Professor's 
judgment, so he had contented himself instead 
with claret, a sound vintage which he knew 
he could depend upon. Flowers, he thought, 
were clearly permissible, and he had called at 
a florist's on his way and got some chrysan- 
themums of palest yellow and deepest terra- 
cotta, the finest he could see. Some of them 
would look well on the centre of the table in 
an old Nankin blue and white bowl he had ; 
the rest he could arrange about the room : 
there would just be time to see to all that 
before dressing. 

Occupied with these thoughts, he turned 
into Vincent Square, which looked vaster 
than ever with the murky haze, inclosed by 
its high railings, and under a wide expanse 
of steel blue skv, across which the clouds 
were driving fast like ships in full sail 
scudding for harbour before a storm. Against 
the mist below, the young and nearly leafless 
trees showed flat, black profiles as of pressed 
seaweed, and the sky immediately above the 

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"me got some chrysanthemums." 

house-tops was tinged with a sullen red from 
miles of lighted streets ; from the river came 
the long-drawn tooting of tugs, mingled with 
the more distant wails and hysterical shrieks 
of railway engines on the I^ambeth lines. 

And now he reached the old semi-detached 
house in which he lodged, and noticed for 
the first time how the trellis- work of the 
veranda made, with the bared creepers and 
hanging baskets, a kind of decorative pattern 
against the windows, which were suffused 
with a roseate glow that looked warm, and 
comfortable, and hospitable. He wondered 
whether Sylvia would notice it when she 

He passed under the old wrought- iron 
arch that once held an oil-lamp, and up a 
short but rather steep flight of steps, which 
led to a brick porch built out at the side. 
Then he let himself in, and stood spellbound 
with perplexed amazement — for he was in a 
strange house. 

In place of the modest passage with the 
yellow marble wall paper, the mahogany hat- 
stand, and the elderly barometer in a state of 
chronic depression which he knew so well, 
he found an arched octagonal entrance-hall, 
with arabesques of blue, crimson, and gold, 
and richly-embroidered hangings ; the floor 

by t^ 



was marble, and from a shallow basin 
of alabaster in the centre a perfumed 
fountain rose and fell with a lulling 

" I must have mistaken the number," 
he thought, quite forgetting that his 
latch-key had fitted, and he was just 
about to retreat before his intrusion 
was discovered when the hangings 
parted and Mrs. Kapkin presented 
herself, making so deplorably incon- 
gruous a figure in such surroundings, 
and looking so bewildered and woe- 
begone, that Horace, in spite of his 
own increasing uneasiness, had some 
difficulty in keeping his gravity. 

" Oh, Mr, Vent i more, sir," she 
lamented; "whatever mill you go and 
do next, I wonder? To think of 
your going and having the whole place 
done up and altered out of knowledge 
like this, without a word of warning ! 
If any halterations were required, I do 
think as me and Rapkin had the right 
to be consulted/' 

Horace let all his chrysanthemums 
drop unheeded into the fountain- 
He understood now : indeed, he 
seemed in some way to have under- 
stood almost from the first, only he 
would not admit it even to himself. 

The irrepressible Jinnee was at die bottom 
of this, of course. He remembered now 
having made that unfortunate remark the 
day before about the limited accommoda- 
tion his rooms afforded. 

Clearly Fakrash must have taken a mental 
note of it, and, with that insatiable munifi- 
cence which was one of his worst failings, 
had determined, by way of a pleasant sur- 
prise, to entirely refurnish and redecorate 
the apartments according to his own 

It was extremely kind of him ; it showed 
a truly grateful disposition — "but, oh I* as 
Horace thought, in the bitterness of his soul, 
u if he would only learn to let well alone and 
mind his own business ! 5J 

However, the thing was done now* and 
he must accept the responsibility for it, since 
he could hardly disclose the truth. u Didn't 
I mention I was having some alterations 
made?" he said, carelessly. "They've got 
the work done rather sooner than I expected. 
Were— were they long over it ? " 

" Tm sure I can't tell you, sir, having 
stepped out to gel some things I wanted in 
for to-night ; and Rapkin, he was round the 
corner at his reading-room ; and when I 

Original from 



come back it was all done and the workmen 
gone J ome;and how they could have finished 
such a job in the time beats me altogether, 
for when we J ad the men in to. do the back 
kitchen they took ten days over it." 

"Well," said Horace, evading this poin^ 
"however they've done this, they've done it 
remarkably well — you'll admit 
that, Mrs. Rapkin ? " 

" That's as may be, sir," said 
Mrs, Rapkin, with a sniff, "but 
it aitvt my taste, nor yet I don't 
think it will be Rapkin's taste 
when he comes to see it," 

It was not Yen tim ore's taste 
either, though he was not going 
to confess it u Sorry for that, 
Mrs. Rapkin," he said, " but 
I've no time to talk about it 
now. I must rush upstairs an<~ 

" Begging your pardon, sir, bu 
that's a total unpossibility— fo 
they've been and took away th 

" Taken away the staircase 
Nonsense!" cried 

"So / think, Mr. 
Ventimore — but it's 
what them men have 
done, and if you don't 
believe me, come and 
see for yourself." 

She drew the hang- 
ings aside, and revealed 
to Ventimore's aston- 
ished gaze a vast pillared 
hall with a lofty domed 
roof, from which hung 
several lamps, diffusing 
a subdued radiance. 
High up in the wall, 
on his left, were the 
two windows which he 
judged to have formerly 
belonged to his sitting- 
room (for either from delicacy or inability, or 
simply because it had not occurred to him, 
the Jinnee had not interfered with the external 
structure), but the windows were now masked 
by a perforated and gilded lattice, which 
accounted for the pattern Horace had noticed 
from without The walls were covered w T ith 
blue and white Oriental tiles, and a raised 
platform of alabaster on which were divans 
ran round two sides of the hall, while the side 
opposite to him was pierced with horseshoe- 
shaped arches, apparently leading to other 

apartments. The centre of the marble floof 
was. spread with costly rugs and piles o) 
cushions, their rich hues glowing through 
the gold with which they were intricately 

*• Well," said the unhappy Horace, 
scarcely knowing what he was saying, 



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l * It — it all looks very cosy> Mrs. 

u It's not for me to say, sir ; but I should 
like to know where you thought of 

u Where ? M said Horace. " Why, here, of 
course. There's plenty of room," 

'* There isn't a table left in the house," 
said Mrs. Rapkin ; "so, unless you'd wish the 
cloth laid on the floor " 

" Oh, there must be a table somewhere," 
said Horace, impatiently, ■* or you can borrow 

Original from 



one. Don't make difficulties, Mrs. Rapkin* 
Rig up anything you like * * . now I must 
be off and dress/' 

He got rid of her, and, on entering one of 
the archways, discovered a smaller room, in 
cedar-wood incrusted with ivory and mother- 
o'-pearl, which was evidently his bedroom. 
A gorgeous robe, stiff with gold and glittering 
with ancient gems 3 was laid out for him — for 
the Jinnee had thought of everything — but 
Ventimore, naturally, preferred his own 
evening clothes. 

*' Mr. Rapkin," he shouted, going to 
another arch that seemed to communicate 
with the basement. 

" Sir ? " replied his landlord, who had just 
returned from his "reading-room," and now 
appeared, looking pale and wild, as was, 
perhaps, intelligible in the circumstances. 
As he entered his unfamiliar marble halls he 
staggered and his red eyes rolled and his 
mouth gaped in a cod-like fashion. il They've 
been at it J ere t too, seemin'ly," he remarked, 

"There have been a few changes," said 
Horace, quietly, "as you can see: You 
don't happen to know where they've put my 
dress-clothes, do you ? " 

" I don't J appen to know where they've put 
nothink. Your dress-clothes ? Why, I dunno 
where they J ve bin and put our little parler, 
where me and Maria 'ave set of a hevenin 1 
all these years regular. I dunno where 
they've put the pantry, nor yet the bath- 
room, with 'ot and cold water laid on at my 
own expense. And you arsk me to find 
your hevenin 5 soot ! I consider, sir, I con- 
sider that a unwall— that a most unwarran- 
terrible liberty have bin took at my expense." 

" My good man, don't talk rubbish ! " said 

" I'm talking to you about what / know > 
and I assert that an Englishman's 'ome is his 
cashle, and nobody's got the right when his 
backsh turned to go and make a 'Ummums 
of it. Not nobody 'asn't ! " 

" Make a what of it ? n cried Ventimore. 

11 A 'Ummums — that's English, ain't it? A 
bloomin' Turkish baths ! Who do you 
suppose is goin' to take apartments Furnished 
in this J ere ridic'loush style? What am I 
goin' to say to my landlord ? It'll about 
ruing me, this will ; and after you bein' a 
lodger 'ere for five year and more, and re- 
garded by me and Maria in the light of one 
of the famly. It's 'ard— it's bloomin' 'ard ! " 

" Now, look here," said Ventimore, sharply 
— for it was obvious that Mr, Rapkin's 
studies had been lightened by copious re- 

freshment—" pull yourself together, man, and 
listen to me." 

u I respeckfully decline to pull myshelf 
togerrer Pr anybody livin\" said Mr. Rapkin, 
with a noble air. " I shtan' ere upon my 
dignity as a man, sir. I shay, I shtand 'ere 

upon- *" here he waved his hand, and sat 

down suddenly upon the marble floor, 

" You can stand on anything you like— or 




can," said Horace ; " but hear what I've got 
to say. The — the people who made all these 
alterations went beyond my instructions. I 
never wanted the house interfered with like 
this. Still, if your landlord doesn't see thnt 
its value is immensely improved, he's a fool T 
that's all Anyway, I'll take carej^ra sha'n't 
suffer. If I have to put everything back in 
its former state I will, at my own expense. 
So don't bother any more about that" 

" You're a genTman, Mr. Ventimore," 
said Rapkin, cautiously regaining his feet. 
" There's no mishtaking a genTman. Ttn 
a genTman." 

4C Of course you are," said Horace, genially, 
" and 1*11 tell you how you're going to show 

Original from 



it You're going straight downstairs to get 
your good wife to pour some cold water over 
your head ; and then you will finish dressing, 
see what you can do to get a table of some 
sort and lay it for dinner, and be ready to 
announce my friends when they arrive, and 
wait afterwards. Do you see ? " 

"That will be all ri J , Mr, Ventimore," said 
Rapkin, who was not far gone enough to be 
beyond understanding or obeying. " You 
leave it entirely to me. I'll unnertake that 
your friends shall be made comforrable, per- 
felly comforrable, I've lived as butler in 
the besht, the mosht exclu — most arishto — 
you know the sort o' families I'm tryin J to 
r'member — and— and every- 
thing was always all i\\ and 
/ shall be all ri' in a few 

With this assurance he 
stumbled down stairs, 
leaving Horace relieved to 
some extent. Rapkin would 
be sober enough after his 
head had been under the 
tap for a few minutes, and 
in any case there 
would be the hired 
waiter to rely 

If he could only 
find out where his 
evening clothes 
were ! He returned 
to his room and 
made another 
frantic search — but 
they were nowhere 
to be found ; and 
as he could not 
bring himself to 
receive his guests 
in his ordinary 




**_— ijwi 



-which the Professor would probably con- 
strue as a deliberate slight, and which would 
certainly seem a solecism in Mrs. Futvoye's 
eyes, if not in her daughter's —he decided to 
put on the Eastern robes, with the exception 
of a turban, which he could not manage to 
wind round his head, 

Thus arrayed, he re-entered the domed 
hall, when he was annoyed to find that no 
attempt had been made as yet to prepare a 
dinner-table, and he was just looking forlornly 
round for a bell when Rapkin appeared. He 
had apparently followed Horace's advice, for 
his hair looked wet and sleek, and he was 
comparatively sober. 

li This is too bad ! '* cried Horace ; " my 
friends may be here at any moment now — 
and nothing done. You don't propose to 
wait at table like that, do you?" he added, 
as he noted the man's overcoat and the 
comforter round his throat. 

41 1 do not propose to wait in any garments 
whatsoever," said Rapkin ; u I'm a-goin' out, 
I am," 

" Very well," said Horace ; " then send 
the waiter up — I suppose he's come ? " 

"He come— but he went away again — I 
told him as he wouldn't be required." 

u You told him that ! n Horace said, 
angrily, and then controlled himself, "Come, 

Rapkin, be reason- 
able. You can't 
really mean to 
leave your wife to 
cook the dinner, 
and serve it too ! " 
"She ain't in- 
tending to do 
left the 
fetch her 
cried Horace. 
H Good heavens, 
man, ain't you see 
what a fix you're 
leaving me in? My 
friends have started long 
ago— it's too late to wire 
to them, or make any 
other arrangements/' 

There was a knock, 
as he spoke, at the front 
door; and odd enough 
was the familiar sound 
of the cast-iron knocker 
in that Arabian hall. 
" There they are ! " he 
said, and the idea of meeting them at the 
door and proposing an instant adjournment 
to a restaurant occurred to him —till he 
suddenly recollected that he would have to 
change and try to find some money, even for 
that. " For the last time, Rapkin," he cried, 
in despair, "do you mean to tell me there's 
no dinner ready ? " 

"Oh," said Rapkin, "there's dinner right 
enough, and a lot o* barbarious furriners 
downstairs a-cookin* of it — that's what broke 
Maria's 'art — to see it all took out of her 
'ands, after the trouble she'd gone to." 

" But I must have somebody to wait," 
exclaimed Horaceif rorr| 




11 You've got waiters enough, as far as that 
goes. But if you expect a hordinary Christian 
man to wait along of a lot o' narsty niggers, 
and be at their beck and call, youYe mistook, 
sir, for I'm going to sleep the night at my 


j, -|MI» 


brother-in-law's and take his advice, he bein' 
a doorkeeper at a solicitors orfice and know- 
ing the law, about this 'ere business, and so 
I wish you a good hevening, and 'oping your 
dinner will be to your liking and satisfaction." 

He went out by the farther archway, while 
from the entrance-hall Horace could hear 
voices he knew only too well. The Futvoyes 
had come ; well, at all events, it seemed that 
there would be something for them to eat, 
since Fakrash, in his anxiety to do 
the tiling thoroughly, had furnished 
both the feast and attendance him- 
self — hut who was there to an- 
nounce the guests ? Where were 
these waiters Rapkin had spoken 
of? Ought he to go and bring in 
his visitors himself? 

These ques- 
tions answered 
themselves the 
next instant, 
for, as he stood 
there under the 
1 o in e , the 
curtains of the 
central arch 
were draw n 
with a rattle, 
and disclosed a 
double line of 
tall slaves in 
rich raiment, 
their onyx eyes 
rolling and 
their teeth 
flashing in their 
chocolate -hued 
as they s a - 

Bctwee n 
this double 
line stood Pro- 
fessor and 
Mrs, Futvoye 
and Sylvia, 
had just re- 
moved their wraps 
and were gazing in 
undisguised astonish- 
ment on the splen- 
t lours which met their 

Horace advanced 

to receive them ; he 

in for it now, and the only 

him was to put as good a 

the matter, and trust 

without dis- 

felt he 

face as he could on 
to luck to pull him 

covery or disaster 


( To he continued. ) 

byGi (e 

Original from 

Cycling at a Mile a Minute. 


By Frederick A, Talbot, 

OME months ago a thrill of 
excitement passed through 
cycledom at the announce- 
ment that the well-known 
American cyclist, Charles M, 
Murphy, of Brooklyn, had 
succeeded in covering a mile in 6osec, 
paced by a locomotive. Cyclists rubbed 
their eyes in astonishment, while the cycle 
Press with its characteristic incredulity urged 
its readers to accept the accomplish- 
ment of such a remarkable performance 
cum grano sulis^ silly emphasizing the fact 
that the record was instituted in America, 
whither so many ex- 
traordinary yams from 
time to time have 

But the record was 
neither the invention of 
a highly imaginative 
brain nor a newspaper 
hoax. The following 
facts and photographs 
will comprehensively 
illustrate how this re- 
markable race against 
time was performed, 
thus conclusively prov- 
ing that Murphy's re- 
cord was genuine in 
every detail 

The race was run on 
June 30th of last year. 
The course was a sec- 
tion of the Long Island 
Railroad, New York, 
U.S.A., and the pacer 
was one of the fleetest 
1 oeomo t i ves belonging 
to the company. Mr. 
special agent of the passenger department 
of that railroad company, was solely re- 
sponsible for the idea, and when 1 inter- 
viewed him upon the matter on behalf of 
The Strand Magazine, he courteously 
rendered me all the information in his 

"It must not be considered," began Mr. 
Fuller ton, "that this race was contested on 
the spur of the moment I, in company 
with the other officials of the railroad, went 
most carefully into the details of the scheme, 
and some months elapsed before our arrange- 

>Vumi a\ 


H, R, Fullerton, 

ments were so satisfactorily completed as to 
enable the race to be run." 

"What first induced you to decide upon 
such a unique feat ? " I asked, 

" Well, you see*" he replied, "when I 
received my appointment I was specially 
urged by the company to study the con- 
venience and requirements of the cycling 
public, so that the traffic of the railroad by 
this new class of travel might be considerably 
increased. Long Island is the veritable 
El Dorado of the cyclic The scenery is 
pretty, the roads are level, well constructed, 
and maintained in constant repair. Last 
year the New York 
State division of the 
League of American 
Wheelmen held their 
meeting at Patehoque, 
Long Island. Naturally, 
therefore, I sought for 
an attraction to draw 
cyclists to this spot. 
Various suggestions 
occurred to me, but 
finally I determined to 
give Charles Murphy, 
the fast cyclist, a chance 
to cover the mile in the 
minute, or, if possible, 
\n less time. I have 
been an intimate friend 
of Murphy's for several 
years, and I have always 
been impressed with his 
tremendous pace s mar- 
vellous clear - headed- 
ness, and nerve. I knew 
very well that a clear 
head and great nerve 
were more imperative in the contemplated 
trial than great speed. Therefore, I broached 
my idea to Murphy. 7 ' 

" And how did he receive the suggestion ?" 
"He accepted it with alacrity. Curiously 
enough, he had petitioned almost every rail- 
road in the United States during the past 
five years to allow him to be paced by a 
locomotive. His endeavours, however, were 
always in vain. This was luck indeed. 
Murphy was willing to ride on any track 
that I could provide, even on the regular 
road-bed of the railway itself if no other were 
available, OficpNwM^dmquite realized that 


|/ h /u>fopr<*j.A. 

2 9- 


he would need to have a perfectly straight, 
smooth track, and* If at all possible, fairly 
level. Now that Murphy was ready to 
undergo the trial I laid the matter before 
the President and General Superintendent of 
the railroad, and received their sanction. 
Thereupon I at once set to work upon the 
necessary details. In this part of the work 
I was admirably assisted by Mr, \Y\ F, 
Potter, the General Superintendent ; Mr. 
L. I\ Pairo, Superintendent of Traffic ; 
Mr. R IX Ford, Chief Engineer; Mr. J, R 
Cum miji, Superintendent of Bridges ; Mr. 
C. h. Addison, PermancntAVay Superin- 
tendent ; Mr. L. S. Wells, Superintendent of 
Telegraphs ; and Mr. 
S. K Prince, jun. T 
locomotive Superin- 
tendent. Had it not 
been for the hearty 
co-operation of each 
of these departments 
the trial would never 
have been performed. 
They assisted me in 
every possible way, 
and each superin- 
tendent personally 
attended to, and car- 
ried outfall the details 
concerning his own 

" I suppose you 
experienced a great 
difficulty in selecting 
a sufficient length of 
track that' coincided 
with all your require- 
ments, as to being 
straight, smooth, 
and level ? " I in- 

" Not so difficult 
as you would at first 
imagine," replied Mr. 
Island is fairly level 


Fram a] 

Fullerton. " Ixmg 
country. The chief 
engineer and myself examined the various 
sections of our system, and at last found a 
stretch of tangent track over three miles in 
length. The next thing was to find at least 
a mile of this level, and this was done where 
we figured that he could slow up sufficiently 
in a quarter of a mile. We then tested our 
engines to see how long a distance was 
necessary as a start to enable the desired 
spued of a mile a minute being attained. 
We found that any of our passcngjr loco- 
motives, comprising regular equipment of 
tender (filled with water and coal) and car 

Digitized by Vj* 

could make a mile easily in a minute, the 
average time for covering the distance being 
only 52sec + , while a start of about three- 
quarters of a mile was necessary in which to 
get up the requisite speed* Of course, I 
naturally desired to make this starting dis- 
tance as short as possible, so as not to make 
Murphy ride at this high rate of speed any 
farther distance than was absolutely essen- 

While these requisite details were gradually 
assuming concrete shape Murphy was under- 
going a vigorous training, to remove all 
superfluous adipose tissue, so that he might 
attempt what was to him die magnum opus 

of his life under the 
best possible advan- 
tages. Then, again, 
to strengthen the 
muscles of his wrists 
Murphy exercised 
with electric dumb- 

The track upon 
which Murphy was 
to ride was made as 
fol 1 o ws : Stout 
wooden joists were 
firmly secured in a 
lateral position be- 
tween the rails, and 
upon these were 
placed longitudinally 
five loin, boards^ side 
by side, so that the 
railroad was con- 
verted into a wooden 
pathway. Even in this 
task the Long Island 
Railroad established 
a record, for Superin- 
tendent Cummin laid 
6o t oooft, of timber 
with sixty men in one 
day. At the end of the car behind which 
Murphy was to ride was a huge hood, the 
object of which was to shield the cyclist from 
the rush of air displaced by the locomotive. 
This hood was built right up from the track to 
the roof of the car. It projected lift. 4m. 
from the back of the car, but as, of course, 
the gangway of the vehicle had to be inclosed, 
only 6ft. really protected Murphy, which was 
quite sufficient, if he could succeed in keep- 
ing up to the pacer. In our illustration on 
page 396, showing the interior of the wind 
shield, will be noticed a kind of projecting 
cross-bar. This was to act as a buffer, to prei 
vent Murphy from getting beneath the car. 


IMF. Ki-KLThii: in:\n«-iii-:i-i_H 
ft jats. [ Fhnktffwjth* 




Awn n h'hotoffraph. 

** Of course," resumed Mr. Fullerton, 
"there was one very important point to be 
borne in mind : the locomotive must not 
vary its speed. That is to say, if the first 
quarter of a mile were run in 2osec, the 
second quarter of a mile must not be run in 
iosec. in order to make up time, since I 
knew it would be very disconcerting to 
Murphy if the driver of the locomotive de- 
creased or increased his speed. Mr. Prince, 
the locomotive superintendent, came to my 
assistance in this 
respect with Sam 
Booth, one of the 
railroad's most 
experienced and 
trusted drivers. 

" On the day 
before the great 
event a trial trip 
was run to see if 
everything was in 
perfect and 
smooth - working 
order. Murphy 
had, of course, 
previously tried 
the track, and 
expressed himself 
:is satisfied with it 
Every condition 

was exactly the same on this 
rehearsal as in the final trip, 
wind shield, buffer, and every- 
thing being in position. Murphy 
rode a bicycle geared to ri6. 
I instructed the driver to 
cover the mile in 1*2511101,, 
but cautioned him most care- 
fully to maintain the same 
speed throughout the minute 
as he made in the first fifteen 

" Everything passed off satis- 
factorily, Murphy covering the 
distance in 6ssec This was 
2osec« quicker than -I antici- 
pated, but the explanation was 
that the engine had gathered 
momentum a little faster than 
was expected during the first 
quarter of a mile, and the 
driver, obeying my strict in- 
junction as to regularity of 
speed, had wisely kept it up. 
Murphy rode wonderfully well. 
For the entire distance he did 
not leave the middle plank, 
which was only ioin, wide, and 
I do not think his wheel deviated beyond 
the width of a newspaper column. 

" This trial run was interesting in many 
respects. I had entertained some fears as to 
what would happen if Murphy, unable to keep 
up to the locomotive, had dropped outside 
the wind shield There were bound to be 





wind skirls, and I knew Murphy would fare 
badly if he were caught in the vortex of 

air, I had made 
various experi- 
ments, however, 
with silk hand- 
kerchiefs, kites, 
pieces of paper, 

etc., and found 
that the air dis- 

It never fluttered in the least, while the 
hair on the cyclist's head was not dis- 
turbed a particle, as would otherwise have 
been the case had any breeze or current 
of air existed. The cyclist rode in an 
absolutely still atmosphere, I had thoroughly 
explained to Murphy the result of my experi- 
ments regarding the whirlwinds, so that he 
knew pretty well what to expect should he 
lag too far behind the pacer. 

" I must not forget to mention one curious 
incident that occurred during the trial I 
had previously arranged with Murphy that, 
when the mile was covered, I, who was to 
lay down flat upon the platform just above 
Murphy's head, would wave my cap across a 
white board fixed just in front of him, and 
upon which he would keep his eyes. On 
receiving this signal, he was to decrease his 
speed, to drop gradually out of the wind 
shield, and to dismount in the ordinary way. 
He carried out my suggestion to the letter, 
but, unfortunately, he was caught in the 
wind skirls, and twisted about considerably, 
though he did not swerve from his track. 
Realizing the situation, he gathered speed 
once more and caught the train up again, 
and was hauled on board. 

4L Now that Murphy had acquitted himself 
so splendidly in the trial trip, personally 1 
did not entertain the slightest doubt as to 
his ability to accomplish the distance in a 
minute, nor did I for a moment apprehend 
any danger or serious results. Murphy was 
quite in accord with me in this feeling of 

"The next day tht: final attempt was 


placed by the locomotive, and 
rushing in furious currents on 
either side of the car in almost 
parallel lines, did not come 
together immediately behind the 
train, as is generally supposed, 
but met in two swirling circles 
something like 200ft, behind the 
train while travelling at sixty miles 
an hour. Consequently there was 
absolutely no back draught, nor 
any wind pressure upon Murph) 
in any way. Some of the spec 
tators on board the ear proved 
this fact by holding a handker- 
chief where Murphy was riding. 


1 ' '*vn/yiiu|jA. 




made, Mr, James Sullivan, whose reputation 
fs world wide, and whose character is un- 
available, acted as referee> while he was 
supported by four other well-known time- 
keepers, whose watches were in first-class 
condition ; there were also various Pressmen 
and representatives from other railroads on 
the train, so that there can be no possible 
question regarding the time made, or the 
thoroughly sportsmanlike manner in which 
the contest was carried out. 

"Murphy, only attired in a sweater and 
full-length tights, mounted his cycle, which 
was geared to 120 four points higher than 
the one he rode the previous day —and took 
up his position, We started almost im- 
perceptibly, and the engine gathered mom en- 

was finished and that I would haul him on 
to the car. Although this seemed a startling 
proposition at first, working with a man of 
such perfect self-control as Murphy it was 
really the easiest thing to do T and the danger 
element was reduced tremendously. 

H As we finished the mile Sullivan gave 
the word, and I flashed my cap across the 
white board in front of Murphy, The cyclist, 
acting on my instructions, immediately 
dropped back about 25ft,, and the air 
brakes were applied to the train so gently 
and steadily that not the slightest vibration 
was felt in fact, tho^e on the car were un- 
conscious of the application of the brakes. I 
gave another signal, and Murphy immediately 
spurted and caught us up again, Mr. 

r-rtJWl O] 

GETTING kkadv. 


turn with every second. By the time she 
entered upon the mile run she had easily 
gained a velocity of sixty miles an hour. 
Murphy clung to the pacer with marvellous 
tenacity throughout the whole mile. He did 
not ride quite so steadily as on the previous 
occasion, but this he subsequently explained 
was due to the fact that the bicycle was 
of a higher gear than that to which 
he had become accustomed during his 

" After his experiehce at the finish of the 
former trial I had, after careful consideration, 
proposed to Murphy that^ instead of dropping 
out from behind the wind shield and slowing 
down alone and cutting the whirl winds* he 
should ride up to the train when the mile 

Cummin and myself put a hand under each 
shoulder and lifted him firmly off the wheel 
Murphy put his right foot through the top 
bar or the cycle until I could get hold of it 
with my other hand, and then both rider and 
cycle were hauled on the car* It was a 
hazardous performance with the train rushing 
along at sixty miles an hour, but it was 
successfully accomplished* Thus it was that 
Murphy had established the world's cycling 
record by riding a mile in 6osec, certainly 
one of the greatest cycling feats ever 
attempted. He had not been supported or 
guided by any ropes or contrivance of any 
description to aid him in his run. He had 
simply ridden behind the railway train in 
just the same inaiiii^fOHfe he would have 




/•VtfPH Wj 


ridden upon the asphalt track behind the 
conventional cycling pacer," 

Our last photograph, which was snap- 
shotted about 30yds* from the finish, shows 
Mr. Fullerton and Superintendent Cummin 
ready to assist Murphy off the cycle. The 
intrepid cyclist can scarcely be discerned 
through the dust that was thrown into the 
air by the travelling train, but a compre- 
hensive idea of the magnificent manner in 
which he clung to the pacer is conveyed. 
At the instant the 
photograph was 
taken he was only 
about 4ft. distant 
from his guiding 
star, the white 
board, which may 
plainly be seen. 

"There is one 
thing I must say 
in conclusion," 
remarked Mr. Ful- 
lerton. n I have 

seen some of the English newspapers in 
which it was asserted that I, as a Press agent, 
had fooled the newspaper men of the States, 
by concocting a vivid picture of a cyclist 
being paced by an engine. There are two 
errors in such an assertion : one is that I 
am not a Press agent ; and the second is 
that I do not believe the man is yet 
born who can fool the newspaper men of 
New York, or, in fact, the clever writers 
of any large city on the globe," 

There may be 
a great divergence 
foolhardiness of 
such a cycling feat, 
but certainly as an 
example of physi- 
cal endurance, 
clear - headedness, 
and iron nerve, 
Murphy's achieve- 
ment would be 
difficult to beat. 

MUJtritY FINISHING I H f MN.K ^ -* Ul-Ul"l» I »K 1 ■ Wl 

From a Photoffr apk. 


by tiOOgl 

Original from 

In Natures Workshop. 

By Grant Allen. 

EN and monkeys, we all know, 
are imitative creatures; but 
there are few departments of 
human life where man has 
been so entirely anticipated 
and at the same time surpassed 
by the lower animals as in the invention of 
armour. His cunningest devices of the 
mailed fist order were none of them original. 
If you examine a fine and fully-developed 
suit of plate-armour, in the form which it 
assumed at its highest zenith in the fifteenth 
century, you will find that the trunk and limbs 
were completely inclosed in a splendidly- 
fitting jointed case of iron plates, all exquisitely 
polished- The joints of these plates were 
arranged in the most ingenious manner so as 
to move freely over and under one another, 
without exposing any part of the body for 
a moment to the deadly chance of a sword- 
lunge or a lance-thrust. For example, the 
scale-like pieces which covered the shoulders 
were cleverly protected at the edges by fan- 
shaped projections, making it impossible for 
an enemy, however quick and deft, to get at 
the line of junction. The knee-caps, the 
shoes, the elbbws, the gauntlets, all the 
minor parts of the caparison, were admirably 
designed with great skill and care, so as to 
afford the utmost possible security to the 
wearer, and yet interfere as little as prac- 
ticable with his freedom of movement. The 
suit, as a whole, was a triumphant product 
of the armourer's art. Yet if you look at the 
lobster's tail represented in No. 10, you will 
see at a glance that all these clever devices 
of man's imagining had been invented and 
patented long before by nature, and that the 
elaborate workmanship of the Plantagenet 
craftsmen, who cased knight and horse for 
the battle-field or the tournament in movable 
plaques of glistening metal, was but a poor 
imitation of the ineffable skill with which 
the unheeded crustaceans of the time pro- 
tected every vulnerable portion of their 
bodies from the assaults and attacks of their 
submarine enemies. Gorget and visor and 
greaves and hauberk yield in perfection of 
fit and in absolute ease and freedom of 

Vol. xix.-38. 

by L^OOgle 

action to the beautiful blue-black male of 
these rock -haunting paladins, or to the 
absolutely unassailable yet flexible corselets 
of the little burrowing South American 

It is interesting to notice, too, that just as 
in the case of the prickly plants and animals, 
so in the case of the armour-plated types, 
members of the most dissimilar and unrelated 
families, when circumstances happen to 
call for the development among them 
of mail-clad forms, produce on the whole 
extraordinarily analogous suits of panoply. 
They crop up everywhere. With the excep- 
tion of the birds, which are never armour- 
plated (for one can hardly conceive of a flying 
ironclad), there is scarcely a single great 
group in the animal kingdom which does not 
number among its members one or more 
such cuirass-bearing species : and all the 
armoured types, from China to Peru, re- 
semble one another in the most astonishing 
manner. It seems as if even nature could 
only find one central plan for coats of mail. 
Often, indeed, the resemblance is so close 
between unallied kinds that only a naturalist 
can perceive the deep underlying diversity in 
the midst of so much apparent similarity of 
external configuration. Just as a knight in 
armour and a horse in armour seem almost 
to belong to the same general group of 
articulated animals, so the armadillo absurdly 
resembles the tortoise, though one is a 
mammal and the other a reptile : while the 
similarity in type of the molluscan chiton 
(No. 12) to the common wood-louse (No. 5) 
is so close that it might deceive almost any- 
one but the scientific observer. 

As a good introduction to the tactics of 
the plate-armoured class in general, I will 
begin with some brief account of the curious 
South African and Indian pangolins, or scaly 
ant-eaters. No. 1 exhibits a typical specimen 
of this quaint and belated race, the short- 
tailed pangolin, various modifications of 
which are found in most of the southern 
parts of the Dark Continent, from the West 
Coast and Mozambique to Zanzibar and 
Somaliland. The pangolins are also a good 




set of armour-bearers to begin upon, because, 
curiously enough, they stand about half-way 
in military tactics between our old friends the 
prickly hedgehog group, whose armour is 
offensive, and the turtle group, whose armour 
is defensive only. As we shall see a little 
later, the pangolins (like the White Knight 
in "Alice," with his spiky armour) to 
some extent unite both these methods of 
passive warfare : they are turtles when un- 
rolled, but turn into incomplete hedgehogs 
or porcupines if 
hard pressed by 

A glance at 
the portrait of 
the short -tailed 
pangolin in 
No. i will show 
you at once that 
this uncouth 
beast is clad 
from head to tail 
in serried plates 
of defensive 
armour. He is 
about two feet 
long, and his 

head, I will admit, is remarkably small for 
his size : to say the truth, he does not 
possess much brains to speak of, being 
a fairly dull and unintelligent animal 
Central and South Africa have never been 
famous for evoking the higher intellectual 
qualities : most native races there, whether 
of Hottentots or beasts, are tolerably stupid. 
And the pangolin is, so to s]>eak 7 the Bush- 
man among South African mammals, The 
great peculiarity of the race, the point that 
has told for them in the struggle for existence, 
in spite of their stupidity, is the thickness of 
their skin, or rather of their solid plate-like 
covering. This covering consists of large 
and sharp-edged scales, which overlap one 
another like the tiles on a house —another 
example of nature anticipating humanity, 
though to be sure in this case fishes had 
already anticipated pangolins. The origin and 
character of the scales is m itself one of the 
queerest points about this very queer and 
uncanny animal. They are composed of hairs, 
which have grown side by side and got gum- 
med to one another, as it were, by an organic 
secretion : they are clotted curls, so to speak : 
in the very young cub, they are quite soft and 
light-coloured {like the prickles of new-born 
hedgehogs) ; but as the cub grows older, they 
become gradually harder and darker. In the 
full-grown pangolin they form a complete 


by LiOOglC 

suit of jointed and plated armour, each plate 
being fastened at one end and free at the 
other, tile-wise, an arrangement which allows 
of great ease of movement, Part of the 
head, however, and the under portion of the 
body are comparatively unarmed : and this 
gives rise to the habit of rolling up, which we 
have already observed in the case of the 
hedgehog and other prickly animals. 

While the pangolin is walking, or rather 
shuffling along, for he is an ungraceful pro- 
menade^ he is 
sufficiently pro- 
tected from most 
enemies he is 
liable to meet 
on his nightly 
excursions — he 
is a nocturnal 
creature — by his 
scaly suit of 
armour. But 
when any par- 
ticularly persis- 
tent foe tries to 
investigate him 
loo closely, or to 
attack his one exposed and vulnerable point, 
the head, then the pangolin grows angry and 
forthwith adopts the hedgehog tactics, He 
rolls himself round into a ball (for which his 
arched back is admirably adapted), tucks his 
snout between his legs in front, and covers it 
from behind with the scaly tail, which is 
similarly tucked under him ; and in this safe 
position, a living sphere, he sticks out his 
sharp scales at right angles, thus offering their 
unpleasantly pointed edge to the tender nose 
of his astonished adversary. Further inquiry 
is thus instantly obviated* 

The resemblance to the hedgehog in all 
this is so striking that one might at first sight 
inagine the two creatures were closely related 
to one another. But this is not the case. The 
likeness is a likeness of habit only. The 
hedgehog is an insectivorc, while the pan- 
golin belongs to a very ancient and almost 
extinct group of animals, the toothless mam- 
mals or edentates, once widely spread over 
the surface of the earth, but now surviving 
only in a few outlying and unprogressive 
countries. It is well known to zoologists 
that South Africa, South America, Southern 
India, and Australia are (so far as their types 
of life are concerned) very belated and 
antiquated regions : they are not up to 
date : the animals which inhabit them are 
of those sbw-going kinds which once 




roamed over Europe, Asia, North Africa, and 
North America, but which have been long 
since replaced in the go-ahead continents by 
much more advanced and business-like 
creatures. Sloths, wombats, armadillos, ant- 
eaters, are types of the older and slower sort ; 
lions, tigers, deer, antelopes, monkeys, are 
types of the newer and more progressive 
fauna- Now, it is odd that out of the eight 
or ten species of pangolin known to men of 
science, half live in Central and Southern 
Africa, and the other half in India, Java, and 
Southern China. That is to say, they are 
scattered survivors of a kind once more 
widely spread, like the Finns and Lapps in 
Europe, the Eskimo in America, and the 
Samoyedes in Siberia, among human races* 

At the risk of saying too much about one 
group alone among my armour-plated series, 
too, I must just find room to add here that 
the pangolin's second name of scaly ant- 
eater sufficiently describes his mode of life 
and staple diet. The little beasts are 
burrowing animals, and they have a very 
peculiar, long, worm-like tongue, which they 
can dart out and retract with lightning 
rapidity. The tongue is also covered 
with a sticky glutinous secretion : and this 
secretion serves the pangolin in good stead in 
earning its daily bread, or rather its daily ants 
and termites. It is a curious sight to see 
them feeding. The animal makes an open- 
ing in the nests of the insects on which it 
preys, and darts out 
its extensible tongue 
into the galleries of the 
interior. The ants or 
termites rush out, as 
is their wont when dis- 
turbed, to repel the in- 
vader. They are then 
caught and entangled 
in the sticky secretion, 
like flies on treacle- 
paper; as soon as the 
pangolin has secured 
as many as will make 
a mouthful, he with- 
draws his tongue or 
trap, and swallows 
his haul with great 
gusto. For this 
reason he has no need 
of teeth : but he grinds 
up his food internally 
afterwards, in a sort of 
gizzard - like stomach, 
assisted (as in the 
case of many birds) 

by occasional pebbles which act as mill- 

Vou may also perhaps observe that the 
pangolin^ fore- feet have very long curved 
nails or claws, looking as if his mother had 
carelessly neglected to cut them in early 
infancy. These claws are excellently adapted 
for burrowing, and also for breaking into the 
nests of white ants and other tropical insects ; 
but, on the other hand, they are so much 
bent under (like a hoe or pick) that, when 
the animal walks, he has to shamble along 
ungracefully on what ought to be their upper 
surface. This, however, does not greatly 
matter, as the pangolin is an infrequent and 
unobtrusive walker: he is generally engaged 
on private business underground ; when he 
emerges into the open, it is mostly by 
night, in search of ants; for, being a slow 
and tardy creature, he naturally obeys 
the antique precept, "Go to the ant, thou 
sluggard.'' He shuffles along as best he may 
from nest to nest on the plain, in an awkward, 
slipshod fashion : and since he doubles him- 
self up when attacked by more powerful 
animals, the clumsiness of his pace docs not 
seriously harm him. Indeed, you will find 
that almost all armour-clad or prickly crea- 
tures are slow of progress : being amply 
protected by their coat of mail or their 
suit of spiny quills, they have little need 
of the fleet foot of the hare or the slender 
limbs of the timid antelope. 

A somewhat differ- 
ent type of pangolin, 
also from the Dark 
Continent, is repre- 
sented in No, 2, which 
shows the portrait of 
the pale brown scaly ant- 
eater, a West African 
species. This creature, 
though it nests under- 
ground, is not so much 
a bur rower as a tree- 
climber: its scales 
each end in three sharp 
points, w'hich give it 
a little more of the 
hedgehog character. 
Oddly enough, it has 
also one very hedge- 
hog-like trick j for it will 
roll itself up into a 
ball as it sits on the 
branch of a tree, and 
then fearlessly trundle 
itself over, trusting ttj 
the elasticity and 

by LiOOgle 


Original from 





solidity of its scales to break the fall for it 
The pangolins, as a whole, indeed, have 
been well compared to "an animated spruce- 
fir cone, furnished with a head and legs." 
Nothing could better describe their quaint 

Now, if we run right across the southern 
hemisphere from Africa to South America, 
we shall find once more another curious 
group of armour-plated animals, belonging to 
the same great order as the scaly ant- 
eaters — the ancient and almost moribund 
order of edentates — and living like them 
upon ants and termites : but otherwise 
very different in many important points of 
structure. These are the comic little arma- 
dillos, a great many species of which are 
now known — odd-looking wee beasts whose 
general type is well exhibited by the photo- 
graphic portrait of the three-handed armadillo 
in No. 3. This portrait, together with several 
others in the present article, has been taken 
from the excellent specimen in the British 
Museum, and I desire here to express my 
thanks to the authorities 
at South Kensington 
for the kind way in 
which they have per- 
mitted Mr. Enock and 
myself to overhaul and 
pose their treasures. 
But the oddest point 
of difference between 
the armadillos and the 
pangolins is the nature 
of their covering ; in 
the pangolins, the 
plates of the armour 
are homy in texture, 
and consist of united 
or agglutinated hairs ; 
in the armadillo they 
are bony, being com- 

posed of bone-material deposited in the 
true skin in the shape of little shields, 
though each such shield is also itself once 
more inclosed or overlaid by a horny 
plate, developed in the epidermis or outer 
scurf- skin. In the particular instance I 
have chosen for our illustration— that of 
the quaint and dainty little three-banded 
armadillo — the coat of armour consists 
of several distinct portions. First, there 
is the cuirass or shoulder-shield, a sort 
of solid cape, within which the head 
and fore legs can be completely with- 
drawn* Then there is the jointed central 
part, consisting of the three movable 
bands from which the animal takes its 
Christian name, so to speak, being distin- 
guished from the rest of the armadillo family 
in general as the three-banded armadillo : 
this central part is girt in rows of plates with 
movable skin between them, and is extra- 
ordinarily flexible and easy in its movements, 
the pam gliding beneath one another in the 
most admirable and workmanlike manner. 
Then comes the hind shield or body-armour, 
a sort of mantle for the flanks, with a notch 
in it to receive the tail ; and this part serves 
to protect the hind legs as well as the whole 
of the back and digestive apparatus. Finally, 
a smaller set of plates protects the forehead 
and face, while another set covers the tail : 
so that only the under surface of the body 
is at any time exposed to the attacks of 

That is how the armadillo looks when it is 
abroad on its hunting expeditions and fears 
no foe : but let danger threaten, and, quick 
as thought, the little beast immediately clears 
the decks for action, as you see in No, 4, 
where it is shown preparing to receive cavalry- 






A dog or other inquisitive assailant has 
manifested a desire to investigate the arma- 
dillo : the armadillo wisely declines to be 
examined, and prefers to retire into the 
privacy of its internal consciousness* By a 
strong muscular contraction it folds itself up 
bodily : the head and fore legs retreat behind 
the cuirass or cape ; the hind legs tuck them- 
selves away neatly in the recess of the body- 
shield ; and the armour-plated upper surface 
of the forehead and tail fill in the interspaces 
of the notched coat of mail, lying side by 
side in the crevice and completing the general 
globular form of the new position- When thus 
rolled up into a perfect globe, the armadillo is 
even better protected from attack than the 
hedgehog : for if a beast of prey tries to bite 
it, the smooth living ball glides away unhurt, 
and leaves the baffled assailant open-mouthed 
and wondering. 

You will notice that in No. 3 the 
armadillo has very long claws on his 
fore-feet : especially is this the case 
with the middle toe, which is spe- 
cialized as a burrowing instru- 
ment, and is useful in digging 
up the nests of white ants 
and other insects. The 
armadillos pass most of 
their life underground, 
and seldom ven- 
ture out except in 
search of food or 
mates. But they 
are not for the 
most part noc- 
turnal All the 
existing kinds are 
com pa rati ve ly 
small — none of 

then longer than Sh -like causes, like results 
3ft, — but many of 
their cousins in 

late geological times were much more 
formidable in size, and must have looked 
like gigantic turtles* An extinct species, 
known to science as the glvptodon, measured 
no less than eleven feet in length ; while a still 
more closely-related type, the chla my d other e 
(I am not responsible for these very learned 
words), was almost as formidable as its own 
name, for it rivalled in bulk our modern 
rhinoceroses. Such colossal creatures, clad 
in plate-armour to match, must have moved 
about like living terrestrial ironclads, and are 
sure to have been better respected than loved 
by most of their contemporaries. 

It is to descend from the sublime to the 
ridiculous, I ad mi t ? to go straight from these 

Digitized by C_t 

huge South American fossil monsetrs to the 
common little wood-louse of our English 
copses (No. 5). Yet the resemblance of 
habit in that lurker under stones to the 
burrowing beasts of the Argentine Pampas 
is so great that many prim speakers, dis- 
liking the strong Saxon flavour of its good 
old English name, habitually speak of our 
British wood-louse as "the armadillo J3 ; even 
science itself has sanctioned the usage in 
the slightly altered form of armadillidium* 
If you lift up a fallen log or mossy boulder in 
almost any English grove, it is ten to one 
that you will find crouched beneath it a 
curious little many-legged running beast, very 

smooth and shiny, 
who tries to avoid 
the light, and 
scampers away 
the moment the 
wood or stone 
which forms the 
roof is removed 
from his under- 
ground dwelling. 
Touch him with 
your finger, and 
he doubles himself 
up instantly into a 
shiny ball, as you 
see in No. 5, 
being then pro- 
tected from harm 
by his tough shell 
or armour - plated 
carapace. So 
smooth and round 
is he, indeed, that 
he rolls away from 
your grasp, like a 
glared pill and 
can hardly be 
picked up save 
with a little care. He is not an insect. 
The wood-lice are land-haunting crustaceans, 
remote relations of the crab and lohster, 
marine creatures which have stepped boldly 
on shore and adapted themselves to the habit 
of breathing air, though they still live in 
moist holes or crannies, among dark damp 
spots, hiding through the day, and prowling 
forth in search of food at night-time. They 
are vegetarians by conviction and habit, and 
live mainly on dead leaves, though they have 
also a decided fondness for living lettuces. 
But the curious thing about these little beasts 
is that, though they are crustaceans by 
descent, utterly unrelated, of course, to the 
armadillo or any other mammal, they have 





independently developed an almost identical 
mode of defence, and have learnt to tuck 
away their head and tail, and their many 
pairs of legs, within their smooth globular 
armour exactly in the same fashion as their 
South American prototype tucks his own 
belongings away within his bony cuirass. 
Even the muscular machinery for rolling and 
unrolling the body and shell is absurdly 
similar in the larger beasts and the small 
ones. Many other examples of such globular 
armour-plated animals occur in various groups 
of lower types : but I leave them to the 
ingenuity of the reader to discover. 

Perhaps the most marvellous, however, of 
all the mail-coated animals are our good old 
friends, the common tortoises and turtles. 
We have been so long familiar with their 
shape, and with their extraordinary tunic of 
bone and horn, that we have long ago ceased 
even to wonder at them ; but if we were 
shown a tortoise for the first time, and saw 
him withdraw his head and legs at a touch 
within the shelter of his shell, we should all 
exclaim, " What a surprising creature ! " In 
order to understand the origin of the very 
complete defensive armour in the turtle 
group, we ought first to consider the bucklers 
and hauberks of the crocodiles and alligators, 
which, though much less perfect, lead up to 
and explain the turtle's panoply. 

Crocodiles are, in essence, very big 
lizards, though they differ technically from 
the true lizards in some important points, 
but resemble them in outer shape and in 
most anatomical peculiarities. But their 
chief and best-marked external feature is 
their loose coat of movable scaly mail, 
which stands to the solid, welded shell of 
the turtles much as the old linked chain- 
armour of the Norman conquerors stood to 
the developed plate-armour of the later 
Plantagenet period. Crocodiles have their 
backs, tails, and the under side of their bodies 
amply defended by square horny shields, which 
move freely against one another at the edges. 
In the more vulnerable parts, such as the 
back, however, the wily crocodile does not trust 
to the strength of these horny plates alone : 
he has developed beneath them a similar 
series of stout bony plaques, each of which is 
neatly and deftly jointed at the edge with the 
ones beside it. So perfect a safeguard in 
its own fashion is this double set of armour, 
horny and bony, that sportsmen will tell you 
the only sure way to kill a crocodile is to hit 
him in the eye : that is his one vulnerable 
spot, his heel of Achilles : everywhere else, a 
bullet glides off him harmlessly. He lolls 

by L^OOgle 

in the water unconcerned and winks at his 

Now, the turtle group are descendants, 
apparently, of some ancient ancestor who 
possessed a coat of movable armour extremely 
like the plated suit of the existing crocodiles 
and alligators. I venture to believe, even, 
that crocodiles and turtles are remote offshoots 
of the same original lizard-like stock, which 
has variously specialized itself for various 
walks of life under different conditions. All 
turtles and tortoises possess what we call in 
common language a shell, though science — 
which always loves long words — prefers to 
describe it as a carapace. The shell is bony, 
and in almost all instances is actually welded 
together into one with the backbone and 
ribs, so as to form a single immovable dome- 
shaped suit of armour. If you look inside 
the dead shell, you will see the vertebrae like 
a chain running down the middle. There 
are usually two shells, one covering the 
upper part of the body and one the lower : 
and in many species of tortoise — for their 
name is Legion, the family being a very 
large one — the head and legs can be entirely 
withdrawn within the margin of the carapace. 
In such cases, just as in that of the armadillo, 
the gaps in the armour are neatly filled up, 
for the exposed parts are covered on purpose 
with homy masks or aprons, which thus 
complete and round off the entire defensive 
mechanism. The bony dome itself is also 
covered with a skin or breastwork of horny 
shields, which form the externally visible 
portion of the shell, and are most interesting 
objects for examination, because they exhibit 
the origin and development of the whole suit 
of armour. For the visible horny shell 
consists in most species of quite distinct and 
unwelded plates, much as in the crocodile, 
only that they are not separately movable : 
while the true bony shell beneath them con- 
sists, on the contrary, of a single welded or 
united piece, which, however, when one 
comes to look at it closely, turns out to be 
compound — shows by its lines and channels 
that it was originally composed of distinct 
plates, like those of alligators. Thus the 
turtles preserve for us in their own bodies an 
epitomized history of the course of their 

I have selected for illustration here three 
species only among the many hundred kinds 
of the tortoise group now known to natural- 
ists, in order to exhibit three successive 
stages in the gradual obliteration of the 
separate plates. No. 6 represents a land- 
tortoise from South Africa, in which the 




plates are still 
almost as dis- 
tinct as on a 
back, though, 
of course, not 
movable. This 
is a very pretty 
dappled species, 
and the sculp- 
ture in relief on 
the separate 
shields or bosses 
which make up 
the shell is ex- 
tremely elegant. 



No. 7, 



other hand, is a tortoise from the Argentine : 
it displays much more flattened and ol> 
iiterated shields, 
which have coal- 
esced more per- 
fectly , and do not 
nearly so well 
recall the original 
crocodile or alli- 
gator type. No. 8, 
again, is a good 
example of the 
basking mud-tor- 
toises, in which 
the separateness 
of the plates has 
almost d i s - 
appeared, so that 
the entire shell, 
both bony and 
horny, has prac- 
tically coalesced 
rounded dome. 
here figured 
comes from 
Port Essington 
(in these days 
of Imperial 
extension, I 
will be cosmo- 
politan at all 
hazards): but 
other mud- 
turtles, similar 
in this respect, 
are found in 
shallow waters 
almost all the 
world over. We 
have in these 
cases a little bit 
of the history 


into a single smooth and 
The particular specimen 

of evolution 
among animals 
served up for us 
in detail: in- 
deed, if you will 
go to the 
Natural History 
Museum at 
South Kensing- 
ton and look 
carefully at all 
the crocodiles, 
tortoises, and 
turtles there on 
view — an end- 
less group — you 
will soon come to the conclusion that here at 
least there are no " missing links," but that 

every stage in the 
long, slow evolu- 
tion of the tor- 
toise's shell from 
the separate alli- 
gator - like scales 
of its lizard ances- 
tor has been fully 
preserved for us. 
Incidentally such 
a visit will also 
serve to suggest 
the unspeakable 
variety and diver- 
sity of nature : 
before you ex- 
amine the cases 
in the reptile 
room, you will 
that a few dozen types 
turtle are all that exist : 
after you have 
compared them 
in full, you will 
come away 
astonished at 
the number, the 
strangenes s, 
and the exqui- 
site adaptation 
of the many 
kinds displayed 
for you — which 
after all form 
but a portion of 
those existing 
in nature. 

Let me give 
one probably 


probably imagine 
of crocodile and 





instance of this curious adaptation to local 
conditions. The tortoises with humpy and 
bossy scales, more or less quaintly coloured 
(like the first here figured), are very con- 
spicuous in museums : but in nature they 
are often quite hard to distinguish from their 
natural surroundings, even where they are 
plentiful and basking in the open : for they 
usually frequent rocky and pebbly spots, or 
else jungles of dry grass : and their humps 
and colours harmonize excellently with the 
shapes and hues of the objects about them. 
On the other hand, the smoothest forms are 
generally mud-tortoises, which sun themselves 
at their ease on logs in the water, or else 
lurk among soft mud, and under these cir- 
cumstances their smoothness makes them 
less conspicuous to the few enemies whom 
even their solid coats do not enable them to 
set at defiance. 

All the suits of armour with which I have 
hitherto been dealing are quite permanent : 
they cannot be taken off and put on again as 
readily as a mediaeval knight-errant's casque 
and brigandine : indeed, since the turtle's 
coat and his backbone are, like the French 
Republic, " one and indivisible," he could no 
more divest himself of it with safety than you 
or I could change our skeletons, or get a 
new skull to suit the fashion. But the next 
suit of armour of which I am going to speak 
has that further peculiarity that it is shed by 
its owner at periodical intervals — I mean the 
lobster's. Everybody knows, of course, that 
lobsters moult as much as canaries. They 
begin life as tiny tadpoles or larvae, about 
half an inch long, in which stage they have 
grotesquely big goggle eyes, like the dwarf in 
a pantomime, and swim about freely on the 
surface of the water. You would never take 
them for lobsters at all at this point in their 
history : they have much more resemblance to 
the uncouth larvae of beetles and mosquitoes 
than to their own demure and sedate parents. 
After several moults, however, and several 
perplexing alterations of form, like so many 
crustacean " quick-change artists," they arrive 
at last at the adult lobster condition. Adult, 
I say, because they have now attained their 
final form : but not full grown : they go on 
growing : and as the shell they wear fits them 
tightly all over, and is composed of a single 
piece, though much jointed, they have no 
alternative but to cast it off bodily from time 
to time, and develop a new one. When the 
lobster is still very young, he does this at 
frequent intervals : in middle life, he does it 
once a year : but when he has grown old and 
thoroughly hardened, he changes his suit a 

good deal less frequently. At the moulting 
period he retires for a time into private life, 
and changes his suit, like a gentleman that he 
is, in a sequestered dressing-room, far from 

Oddly enough, however, he grows before, 
not after, he casts his shell. That is to 
say, he lays by material for new cells 
and tissues inside his old coat, but he 
does not plim them out, so to speak — 
does not inflate them, if I may use a 
metaphor which will be clear to all cyclists. 
The raw stuff is there, but not the mere 
filling. At last, when he has got everything 
ready for the eventful change, he proceeds to 
endue himself in his new suit of armour. 
An entire soft shell grows round his limbs 
within the old hard one ; then the lobster 
withdraws himself, leg by leg, claw by claw, 
and swimmeret by swimmeret, from his dis- 
used coat, and steps out of his skin, a brand- 
new creature. Even the hard bits of the 
interior — the shelly walls at the base of the 
small legs — are shed wth the rest; for the 
whole suit hangs together in one piece, the 
inner parts being, in reality, mere folds of 
the skin, doubled inward. The cast skele- 
ton, when he has wriggled out of it, forms a 
perfect model of a lobster, in fact, and looks 
like a whole beast, till you discover that it is 
empty. The real lobster himself, on the 
other hand, after thus shuffling off his mortal 
coil, emerges upon the world a new and 
defenceless fleshy creature. It must feel 
odd for him to find himself suddenly deprived 
of his wonted mail. For in order to with- 
draw his big claws from the shed skeleton, 
and otherwise disengage himself from the 
suit he has outgrown, he has to become as 
soft as a jelly : in which condition he pulls 
his limbs one by one through the narrow 
chink of the huge pincer-iike claws in the 
most incredible fashion. As soon as the 
moult is complete, however, he begins to 
grow, or apparently grow, within the 
new and swelling skin, at a rate which 
might well astonish anybody but a mush- 
room. He absorbs water through the thin, 
jelly-like shell, and with it inflates the 
animal tissues ; for before he takes off his 
old coat he has made himself a new one, 
perfect from head to tail, and waiting only 
to be hardened by a supply of lime, partly 
laid up in his body beforehand, and partly 
eaten for the purpose in the shape of other 
shells, which he greedily devours and digests 
in bulk at this stage of his existence. In a 
few days the new shell has acquired the 
consistency of a leathern jerkin, and by the 

by L^OOgle 

U 1 1 I U I I I '_' 




end of six weeks has 
once more become a 
perfect suit of solid 

Our own common 
lobster is, perhaps, the 
finest example now 
living on earth ot the 
mail - coated animals : 
for he is a soldier and 
a member of a domin- 
ant type, like the 
mediaeval barons in 
their iron panoply ; not 
a mere defensively- 
armed non-combatant, 
like the armadillo and 
the tortoise, which skulk 
and hide themselves. 
Shielded by his impene- 
trable corselet of stony 
armour, provided with 
huge pinching claws 
which can crush a sea- 
shell like so much 
paper, and capable of 
attacking almost any amc p 

foe he meets in his 
own element, your lobster is a magnate 
of the most ancient order. My illustration, 
No. 9, however, represents not this hidalgo of 
the seas, but a cousin of the family of some™ 
what inferior rank — the spiny lobster or sea- 
crayfish — who unites in his own person to a 
certain extent the tactics of the tortoise with 


those of the hedgehog. 
He is half armadillo, 
half porcupine in his 
mode of defence. His 
body is covered by a 
stout corselet like that of 
the common lobster, 
but instead of being 
smooth it is prickly or 
thorny like the shell of 
the Japanese devil crab, 
whom I had the honour 
of presenting to my 
readers in this Magazine 
on a previous occasion. 
And the reason why 
the spiny lobster needs 
this extra protection of 
spikes on his shell is 
pretty clear when you 
come to examine him 
closely, He has no 
great crushing nut- 
cracker claws like the 
powerful vices of the 
com mon lobster : his first 
pair of legs are scarcely 
bigger or more muscular 
than the others : as a man of war, he is not 
to be compared for a moment to his more 
familiar and highly developed relation. 
Therefore he makes up for it by spines on 


10,— tiir sriNv lobs ran a tail, to show arrangement 


Vol. xi* + — 39. 


his back : he doubles the parts, as it were, 
of armadillo and hedgehog, so as to be 
safe either way. We have a spiny lobster 
of this type in our own British seas ; but in 




order to meet the views of Colonial readers 
for THE Strand Magazine goes round the 
world — Mr. Enock has here selected for 
Illustration its New Zealand representative. 

No, to is an enlarged view of this sea- 
crayfish's tail, intended to show its very close 
analogy to the joints of plate-armour exhibited 
in No. n. The resemblance is one of the 
best examples one could choose of the very 
close fashion in which art half unconsciously 
imitates nature, or nature half unconsciously 
foreshadows art. Compare it once more 
with the pangolin's tail and the armadillo's 
belts, and you will further observe how much 
nature also imitates and anticipates herself 
— how the same device to obtain the same 
result appears over and over again through 
all her handiwork, 

The self-same lesson is very beautifully 
impressed upon us by the curious little 
marine creature 
delineated in No. 12, 
What is he ? you 
wonder. Well, you 
know that most 
molluscs have either 
two valve-like shells, 
familiar to every- 
body in the oyster, 
the mussel, the 
cockle, and the scal- 
lop — I choose ex- 
amples whose near- 
ness to "the great 
heart of the people '* 
makes them sure of 
recognition — or else 
a single more or less 

spiral shell, as in the equally well-known cases 
of the whelk, the periwinkle, the garden snail, 
and the limpet. But you would hardly suspect 
this odd-looking creature, like a lobster's tail 
with ihebody omitted, of being also a mollusc. 
Nevertheless, it is one, Its name is chiton : 
and chiton is good Greek for a cloak or 
robe. The quaint beast in question derives 
his title from the eight flexible shell -plates 
which cover his back with a complete suit of 
armour, exactly analogous to SO many which 
we have already examined. A few species of 
chiton inhabit our British seas : but it will 
give once more a faint idea of the vast 
variety of all these strange types if I add 
that, taking the round world over, more than 
four hundred distinct kinds of these jointed 
molluscs have been described by naturalists. 

I have chosen only a few among the larger 
or more conspicuous members of the great 
group of armour-plated animals, but many 


of them occur in other classes— too many 
for me even to enumerate roughly. Some- 
times a whole vast alliance is armour-plated 
almost without exception — for example, the 
molluscs. The enormous majority of these 
are inclosed in .very hard shells, like the 
oyster and cockle, sometimes reaching the 
size of the huge conch or giant clam, with 
three great tooth-like furrows, which is occa- 
sionally used as a receptacle for fountains* or 
as a font or holy -water basin in Continental 
churches. The big univalves so often found as 
ornaments of cottage cabinets show one equal 
hardness : and in many eases the mouth of 
the shell, the only exposed part, is closed by 
a solid door, known as an operculum, which 
the animal pulls in behind it, and keeps in 
place by means of a powerful muscle. In 
not a few instances, the hedgehog principle 
reinforces the turtle one ; the shells are 

covered with hard 
spines or prickles. 
Some few molluscs, 
however, like the 
slugs, have found it 
pay to get rid of their 
shells 1 and here it 
is curious to note a 
singular analogy with 
the gradual discard- 
ing of armour by 
human soldiers after 
the invention of fire- 
arms. For when the 
heavy plate -armour 
was superseded as a 
whole, the helmet 
and breast-plate, 
covering the most vulnerable and important 
parts, the head and heart, were still for a time 
retained, as by Cromwell's Ironsides. Now, 
just the same thing occurs in the transi- 
tion from snails to slugs. True snails can 
retire altogether within their protective shells : 
intermediate types occur which have shells a 
little too small for them, so that they cannot 
hide in them : then come imperfect slugs, 
with small, shield-like shells carried on their 
backs — mere bucklers, just covering the 
heart and most vital organs : after that, we 
get slugs who have no visible external shell 
at all, but possess a hidden breast-plate under 
the " mantle " or flesh of the body, exactly as 
Cromwell himself is said to have worn con- 
cealed armour under his woollen jacket : 
and, last of all, as in the big black slug, we 
find forms with no shell of any sort, open or 
buried, but at btst only an imperfect relic in 
the sha^j^^f^^ifi^tfifmts of lime 



scattered about in the flesh of the mantle. 
Here, once more, as in the turtles, the 
various steps in the evolutionary history of a 
type have been fully preserved for us + 

The greater number of crustaceans, again, 
such as crabs and prawns, are also armour- 
plated, the armour being, of course, pro- 
portioned in thickness, as a rule, to the size 
of the animal. The great edible crab of our 
own coasts, too well known on the supper- 
table to call for illustration, is a most for- 
midable beast, protected alike by his solid 
carapace and by the muscular strength of his 
powerful crushing claws, weapons hardly 
second to those of our friend the lobster. 
Among insects, too, there are several great 
groups of armour-plated kinds ; for example, 
the beetles. The common stag-beetle of our 
own country is a fine instance of a mailed 
type : some tropical kinds have shells as hard 
and as impenetrable as the crab's: many 
of them are also provided in addition with 
offensive weapons 
of no mean descrip- 
tion. No. 13 ex- 
hibits a simple 
typical case of a 
mailed water- 
beetle. The scor- 
pions form another 
stout armoured 
class, with pincer 
as strong as 
of the crabs 
lobsters* I 








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must resist the temptation to describe at 
length the bony-pike of America, a true fish 
inclosed from head to tail in a complete and 
close-fitting mail of lozenge-shaped scales, 
enamelled and slimy, like a glistening suit of 
Silvery armour ; or the ungainly sturgeons, 
with their rows of bony plates protecting the 
sides ; or that quaint creature the coffer-fish, 
like a living carved-ivory box, incased in a 
hard setting of six-sided plates, which form 
a curious mosaic pattern over its entire 
body. But I must draw a line some- 

I will only suggest before I conclude that a 
good subject for a day's stroll through the 
Natural History Museum at South Kensington 
or any other great collection of zoological 
specimens would be the examination and com- 
parison of all such armoured creatures, Such 
a study would show, not only the similarity 
of the means employed for defence in various 
cases, but also the beautiful variety of ways in 

which the general 
plan of armour- 
plating is adapted 
in each instance to 
the particular 
needs of the differ- 
ent kinds, crawl- 
ing, swimming, or 
walking, marine or 
terrestrial, powerful 
or feeble, provided 
with offensive arms 
or dependent 
wholly on their 
defensive covering* 


by Google 

Original from 

Moitsieur Bibis Boom-Boom. 

By H. J. W. Dam. 

. 7 'l^W^ 

HE sun burned hot on the 
Channel. It was a warm 
morning in June, The yachts 
at anchor off St Milicent's- 
on-Sea were like snowy carv- 
ings set in green and dancing 

Monsieur Bihi stepped from the perfect 
dining-room of his perfect new hotel upon 
the cool green lawn, where the breakfast- 
tables were set under the blue and white 
striped awning. Monsieur Bibi was a broad, 
short, and very stout Alsatian, with a big, 
waxed moustache like the third Napoleon's, 
and large, projecting, melancholy eyes like a 
pug dog^s. He was immaculately dressed in 
a black frock-coat, an expansive white waist- 
coat which increased his abdominal rotundity, 
and a Piccadilly scarf with a diamond pin* 
He wore other things too, of course ■ but 
these do not matter. 

He frowned at a fly which had placed 
itself on a menu without the cook's order 
The fly flew. Monsieur Bibi pounced upon 
a breakfast-roll which had not been properly 
browned on top, 
and gave it to a 
waiter. He seized 
the waiter's white 
necktie, which was 
a sixteenth of an 
inch off the centre, 
and centred it. 
"Eh? Vot I pay 
you for? Eh?" 
said he, rebuking. 

Then Monsieur 
Bibi, alone, sighed 
heavily — a deep- 
drawn, fat man's 
sigh* He had sunk 
all his fortune in 
this perfect hotel, 
which had just been 
opened. His run- 
ning expenses were 
very heavy, and the 
public did not 
come. It had been 
open for a week, 
had been well 
advertised, and 
there were only 
three guests. Ruin 

stared him in the face. He came sadly 
over to our table, 

"Vot I need is a great advertisement, 
a sensation, a boom-boom. Dat is de 
American word, is it not ? J1 

We explained that the word "boom" in 
America, being highly valued, was used only 
once at a time, 

"Truly!" said he. "I ! ave *ad de idea 
dat it was * boom- boom, ' from de big drum," 
Then he sighed again, and looked sadly out 
to sea. We were sorry for him, for Monsieur 
Bibi, though a genius at making out a 
bill, was a man of feelings and a cook of 
eminence, which means an artist of soul. 

And at that exact moment Monsieur 
Bibi's boom-boom stepped out through the 
French windows of the dining-room, and 
sat down at her table under the awning. 
She was destined to give him an enormous 
advertisement, focus the eyes of all the 
fashionable world on his hotel, and bring 
warships, officials, and diplomatists galore to 
St. Milieent's. But Monsieur Bibi did not 
know this. So he merely bowed profoundly 



uNiiiEUK mm a 




to the lady — his hand upon his heart and a 
look of professional admiration in his pug- 
dog eyes — and majestically summoned her 

Though registered at the hotel as " Mrs. 
Craven of Paris," she looked like an unmar- 
ried girl of twenty. She was tall, slender, 
and well formed, with wonderful Titian-red 
hair, parted on the left side. This, with 
her large black eyes, gave her a strange and 
fascinating personality. She was simply 
dressed in a white serge skirt and pale blue 
silk blouse. Her belt was of white satin, 
and was fastened by a large buckle of what 
seemed- at first sight to be imitation dia- 
monds. An errant sunbeam caught them, 
however, and the sparkling flash revealed 
that they were real stones, and very costly. 
The most singular thing about her, however, 
was her manner. This was cool, careless, 
and imperial. She seemed to be perfectly 
able to take care of herself under any and all 
circumstances, and her decision of character 
showed even in such trifles as opening and 
shutting her purse, ordering her breakfast, 
and nodding in acknowledgment of Monsieur 
Bibi's salutation. 

" De manager of de Queen's Crescent 
Hotel in London writes me dat she is a 
' 'owling swell — incognita,' " he whispered. 
" Russian," he added, under his breath. 

It shortly appeared, in fact, that " the lady 
of the ground-floor right " was a very great 
mystery indeed. She wrote and received no 
letters, and saw no one but her maid ; but 
she sent and received telegrams in sheaves. 
They kept the porters and waiters con- 
stantly on the run. Monsieur Bibi's curiosity 
was great, but it was baffled. A few of the 
telegrams were in French and in cipher ; the 
rest in Russian. Monsieur Bibi, to relieve 
his mind, gave us periodical bulletins con- 
cerning her. 

" Wot you t'ink ? " he said. " She wants 
to drive, and will drive not'ing but a coach 
and four. And didn't she drive dem ! Mon 
Dieu ! " 

The next day it was : " Vot you t'ink ? 
She tells me to order her a private mass at 
de Catholic church, and pays a hundred 
pounds. Mon Dieu ! I vould have got it 
up in de hotel for half." 

On Friday morning, when the London 
papers arrived, Monsieur Bibi's close-cut, 
coarse black hair stood straight on end with 
amazement. He read in the Telegraph : — 

It has just leaked out that a great sensation was 
caused in the Court circle ten days ago by'the sudden 

and mysterious disappearance of Princess Wanda 
Souvaroff. This beautiful girl, a reigning belle, was 
betrothed to the Grand Duke Stanislas, who is some 
twenty-three years her senior. The marriage was 
arranged, it is said, on political lines, by her father, 
Admiral Prince Souvaroff, and is specially favoured 
by the Czar, who will make Admiral Souvaroff the 
head of the Marine. At the ball given by the Grand 
Duke in honour of the betrothal Princess Wanda 
disappeared, leaving absolutely no trace of her where- 
abouts. Report has it that a love story is behind the 
mystery, and this gains currency from the fact that a 
handsome young Polish officer, a captain in the 
Imperial Guard, has obtained leave of absence, and 
has also disappeared. His name is Ladislas Borowski, 
and his family is the richest in Poland. 

" Holy Saint Dominique," gasped Monsieur 
Bibi. " It is de Princesse Wanda* My 
boom-boom was under my nose, and I did 
not smell it." 

As he stood there transfixed the lady of 
the ground-floor right walked out to him. 
" Monsieur," she said, " I leave by the Celt 
to-morrow for South Africa. You will have 
a special steamer to take me to Southampton 
ready at the pier at ten o'clock to-morrow 

Monsieur Bibi's heart turned cold. His 
great opportunity had come only to vanish 
like a mocking will-o'-the-wisp. He said, 
faintly, " Oui, madame." She went away, 
and he staggered to a . garden chair, and 
mopped his bald-topped brow with a red- 
figured silk handkerchief. 

" Angelic Saint Dominique ! It is too 
exceedingly cruel. It is anguishing." But, 
instead of weeping, his face soon set itself 
in firm determination. He rose like the 
great man that he was to the strategic de- 
• mand. Fifteen minutes later he was in the 
cabin of a long, narrow, black excursion 
steamer, the Swift He was saying excitedly 
to the captain, "You onderstand? I pay 
you twenty-five pounds to Southampton. 
Dat is de agreement. Bot I pay you feefty 
pounds if you miss de liner. Dat is between 
you an' me." 

" You are the one to give the orders," said 
the captain. 

"You can crack you cylinder-head, snap 
you crank-shaft, bust you b'iler ; I don't care 
wot you do, bot don't catch de liner," said 
Monsieur Bibi, wildly. 

" I won't," said the captain. He thought 
Monsieur Bibi was mad, but the bank-notes 
were perfectly sane. 

At half-past one next day, when the Swift, 
bearing the Princess, her luggage, and Bibi, 
ran into Southampton, the Celt was repre- 
sented by a faded track of foam upon the 
waters and a column of smoke on the 

""iiYE&if aHStar young man 

3 to 


sat, dejected, on the jetty. Monsieur Bibi 
was the first to see him. " Ah ! " said he, 
in beatific calm, " my boom-boom has not 
departed* It is probablement de pride of 
de Rorowskis." 

Princess Wanda, who was in a state of 
blank despair over missing the steamer, gave 
a scream of joy on seeing her lover. She 
sprang to her feet, her eyes dilated and her 
face radiant. " Ladislas, Ladislas ! " she 
cried. Ladislas did not answer, because he 
was several hundred yards away, and did not 
hear her. She waved her sun-shade wildly, 
and called his name again. Then love or 
sound or the swift-flying steamer impressed 
him, and he saw. He sprang to his feet, 
cried out something in unintelligible joy, and 
waved a brown bag frantically. There is 
nothing so ridiculous as a man on a wharf 
in love with a woman on a steamer. But 
Ladislas was handsome, and the woman on 
the steamer is not critical as a rule* 

As the Swift approached the jetty their 
two faces were a study, Then: eyes were 
full of love, joy, and tears. He sprang over 
the rail, seized the Princess, and kissed her 
passionately, cheeks, eyes, and mouth. Tell 
it not in (lath, but she threw her arms around 
his neck and kissed him no less. These 
Russians love, in some respects, as people 
ought to love, and high-born St, Petersburg 
girls are generally held to be 
more impulsive than logical 

"Lofe rules de Court, de camp, 
de grove," said Monsieur Bibi, 
with happy eyes and radiant face. 
11 De boom-boom is beginning. 
He shall have fifteen, sixteen, and 

The meeting was really touch- 
ing, Princess Wanda, somewhat 
calmer, laughed, cried, and laughed 
by turns. She was radiantly happy. 
The young man was pale with 

"How beautiful is de outpour- 
ing of pure first lofe," said Mon- 
sieur Bibi, " Heaven bless dem ! 
Dey must vait two veeks more, 
fifty guineas per each." 

The lovers sat hand in hand 
on deck all the way back to St, 
Mili cent's. When they arrived 
there Monsieur Bibi filled fifteen, 
sixteen, and bath, his largest and 
most expensive rooms. She whis- 
pered that the rooms must be 
dressed with fresh flowers dally, 
like hers. 

" How exquisite is de floral symbolism off 
our highest and tenderest feelings ! Yon 
guinea per room per daily," said Monsieur 
Bibi. No flowers were too good for Ladislas, 

But now it appeared that the nesting doves 
were in a terrible plight. They could not 
get married. A registrar's license required a 
two weeks' residence, A special license they 
could not obtain, not being members of the 
English Church. The Greek Church autho- 
rities in London had refused all Wandas 
petitions to marry her and Ladislas because 
they suspected something wrong, and Wanda 
dared not reveal herself. Monsieur Bibi, 
consulted, gave his best opinion as in favour 
of two weeks' residence and marriage by 

"But we shall be found, arrested, sepa- 
rated," said Wanda. 

"An Englishman's 'ousc is my castle," 
said Monsieur Bibi. " Dis house is licensed 
to me for dancing, music, and honeymoons. 
I am efen a jobmaster," he added, proudly. 

This was not very clear, but it gave Wanda 
some courage. They concluded to wait. 

The next day a tall, stalwart, jolly-looking 
fellow* in a brown wideawake hat and tweeds, 
arrived. He had a curling black moustache 
and a pink necktie, and spoke Berlin German. 
Monsieur Bibi's experienced eyes examined 


Original from 



" He is a Russian spy," he said. " On de 
track of de lofers. . Votever I charge him, 
he will charge de bureau double." 

" I want a room," said the man. 

" De Russian secret service is de admira- 
tion of de vorld," said Monsieur Bibi. " De 
baby boom -boom has begun to take its 
nourishment. He shall have sixty-one, sixty- 
two, and bath." 

The spy knew his business. He shadowed 
the lovers, and set ihe wires humming to 
London and St. Petersburg. 

Monsieur Bibi knew his business. He was 
also a man of gallant sentiments. He went 
to the lovers. He found them sitting in the 
soft calm of the June twilight, drinking in 
the beauty of the night and the exquisite 
presence of each other. 

There were tears in his sad, puggy eyes. 
" The gracious lady will pardon me, but you 
should be warned," 


" It is a Russian spy : sixty-one, sixty-two, 
and bath," he added, mechanically. 

" A spy here ? In this hotel ? " 

" Pardon me. Your story is known. It 
is even in de English newspapers. Dey 
print not'ings until everybody knows it. It 
is de custom of de country." 

" Good heavens ! Help us ! What shall 
we do?" 

" You vant a solicitor. De best in Lon- 
don, vit his clerk." 

" Then get them. Quick. Telegraph." 

He did so. " Poor babies ! " said he. 
" It shall never be said dat lovers have not 
a friend in Bibi. De solicitor shall have 
forty-two, forty-three, and bath. His clerk 
shall have forty-four, forty-five, and bath. 
Solicitors' clerks don't take baths, but he 
might risk it down here if it was all paid 

The solicitor and his clerk arrived that 
evening. They went to Wanda's sitting- 
room, and talked long and earnestly. Finally 
Wanda came out excitedly. 

" I want the Russian Ambassador. He is 
my uncle." 

Monsieur Bibi bowed, and ordered the 
Russian Ambassador by telegraph as calmly 
as if he had been serving Russian Ambassador 
au vin blanc on the carte du jour. Then he 
went to his office, intoxicated with delight 

" An Ambassador. Heavens ! My poor 
hotel will be honoured," he said. He 
chuckled, rubbed his waistcoat, then sang 
an opera phrase in a spasm of joy. " My 
hotel will be famous ! " Then he com- 
menced to caper and bob about the room in 

an inconceivable manner. He could not 
contain himself. He was dancing a break- 
down. Eugene, the head waiter, came in, 
and stared curiously at him like a scientist 
upon seeing a familiar bug in a new and 
strange aspect. 

"Go'vay," said Monsieur Bibi. "I am 
under de etorm and stress of strong emo- 
tion." Eugene went. 

" De Russian Ambassador shall have de 
whole top-floor left, completely inclosed, vit 
fine view of de sea. If he don't sleep vit 
his wife, vich isn't likely, she shall have de 
whole top -floor right, completely incldsed, 
vit fine view of de sea ! " 

They came. The Russian Ambassador 
was a grave man with grey side-whiskers. 
His wife was a handsome, majestic woman, 
perfectly dressed. They saw Wanda. They 
declined to see Ladislas. There were more 

These went on from day to night. Love 
and political ambition were at deadly 
odds. Wanda had insulted the Grand Duke, 
angered the Czar, injured her father, and 
-made things very unpleasant for her uncle 
the Ambassador. But Wanda was immovable. 
She would marry Ladislas or nobody. She 
hated the Grand Duke's teeth. She also 
hated the Grand Duke. She would run 
away again, and never marry anybody as long 
as she lived if Ladislas went with her. 

The lovers were now separated. Ladislas 
roamed the corridors gnawing his moustache 
in fear and gloom. Their fever vfcnted itself 
in ardent epistles and heavy bribes. Mon- 
sieur Bibi was postmaster. Both his heart 
and his pocket were full. 

" I vould really like to be Postmaster- 
Cheneral and make all de stamps myself," 
said he. " Vouldn't I make pretty ones," 
he added, winking at the lift. 

The time was now ripe, and as it could do 
no harm, Monsieur Bibi told the newspapers. 
They used their blackest type, and sighed 
for American headlines. " The Missing 
Russian Princess at the Hotel Savarin, St. 
Milicent's," was Monsieur Bibi's stipulation. 
This was faithfully fulfilled. It appeared in 
all. The public now found the hotel, and 
began to come. The correspondents came 

" Information only to dose who stop here," 
said Bibi. 

The Telegraphy Morning Ros/, and Daily 
Mail concluded to stop. 

" De English Press is an honour to de 
vorld. No oder correspondents spend half 
so much money. Twenty-one and bath, 

3 12 


twenty-two and bath, twenty-three and bath, 
and a private table," was the order. 

Things now remained at a standstill for 
four-and-twenty entire hours. Something 
then happened, however, which completely 
changed the face of the situation. It was 
ten o'clock in the morning. Monsieur Bibi 
was in his office. " Boom ! " went a heavy 
gun from the fort at the mouth of the 

" Boom, boom ! n w T ent two more heavy 
guns in succession. 

"Condemn dose target-missers," said Bibi, 
" Dey'll break all my vindows*" He went to 
the window, and saw something startling. 

" Boom, boom, boom ! " went the guns- 
The fort was wrapped in a cloud of white 

11 What have you done ? " asked Wanda. 

"Am I a novice? Do I know noting 
of my business ? Russian officers ? Should 
I not order the two hundred dozen of 
champagne?" asked he. (t Ah! I forgot. 
I beg deeply your Highness's pardon, You 
shall be saved, mademoiselle. On the 
honour of Bibi." 

Grandly, majestically, and enormously* the 
great battleship Hohet, Lhe finest vessel in 
the Russian navy, steamed to her position 
like a floating fort, and came to anchor. 

A boat put off, an officer landed at the 
pier, and came to the hotel 

u I wish to see the manager." 

Monsieur Bibi appeared. 

The officer wanted information. 


smoke, through which gleamed periodical 
flashes of lightning, while thundering guns 
woke all the echoes of the bay, 

A tremendous, magnificent white battle- 
ship, with foreign lines, was entering the 
harbour. ■ She was flying a foreign flag, an 
admiral's pennant, and another signal which 
was peculiar. 

M Monsieur Bibi ! Save me," cried Wanda, 
running into the office. 

" Save you ? Vit my own life ! Who is 
de peril ? " screamed Bibi, 

"My lather. They are saluting his ship." 

" Vot ? Dat ship stops here ? " 


" A Russian battleship in front off my 
hotel ? Holy Saint Dominique I " He sprang 
to his desk, pounced like a tiger on a 
telegraph form, and wrote quickly, Then 
he rang the electric bell continuously, "At 

vonce," he said. 

" Don't lose a moments/ 5 

lized by XliOOgie 

** I haf no information." 

" It will be paid for." 

" I take no pay, All T know is at de 
service of my guests," 

" Give me a room," said the officer 

" De intelligence of dese young foreign 
officers is wonderful : England should take 
warning. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, and bath," 
said Bibi* 

"Now," said the officer, "the Admiral 
wants to see you*" 

" I am here," said Bibi. 

"You must come on hoard." 

** Pardon ! Have pity," said Bibi. His 
sad eyes threatened to fall upon his cheeks. 
" De sea makes me ill ; so ill ; it is 
incredible. I nefer make bot von voyage* 
It was across de Channel I shall nevaire 
make anoder. I shall never see my native 
France again*" 

" But the(JH^af ffigpfp to sec f°^ n 




" I am here» I am not going away. It is an 
excellent hotel. My second cook is a Rus- 
sian. 1 stake my family honour on his 

" I will tell the Admiral," said the officer. 

" I atn a father myself. I feel for him. 
He shall have fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, 
and fifty-eight, meals in his apartments," said 

"The Grand Duke is with him." 

"Vich Grand Duke?" 

" Stanislas." 

"Vat? De oder lofer? He has come 
too ? Vive la Russe ! De divine right of 
Kings shall be respected. De Royal suite ! " 
he shouted. " Ready at vonce ! Fill de 
sideboard vit champagne. Fill everyt'ing 
vit champagne." 

The Admiral and the Grand Duke came 
ashore in a launch. Both were in uniform. 
The Admiral was a short, stout man, with 
an eagle eye and an eagle nose. He went 
straight into the hotel, stopped at the office, 
and said ; " Mrs. Craven of Paris." 

" What name, please ? " 

" Admiral Souvaroff." 

He was shown to Princess Wanda's sitting- 
room. It was empty. In a moment she 
entered, very elegantly dressed, very haughty 
and very cold. They looked at each other 
without speaking : the father bursting with 
rage, the daughter keen-witted and defiant. 

Princess Wanda had much strength of 
character, but she was also very soft of 
heart just then and very deeply in love. If 
Souvaroff had approached her in tenderness 
something might have been done. But he 
did not. He was an iron man, accustomed 
to instant obedience. He had owned serfs. 

" So you, my daughter, are here with this 
scoundrel ? " 

She said nothing. She looked at him 

" You are going on board my ship." 

" Can you take me ? " 

" Yes. The English authorities will 

" Very well. When do I go ? " 


"Toni," she said, calling to her maid, 
" pack my luggage." 

The Admiral sat down, fuming. Princess 
Wanda went into the room adjoining to 
assist the maid. 

The packing took some time. He grew 
more and more impatient. Finally, after 
twenty minutes, he walked into the room 
angrily. The maid was still packing. 

" Where is your mistress ? " 

Vol. xix.-40 

by Google 

"I don't know." 


As a matter of fact nobody knew. 

The Russian navy nearly lost a highly 
esteemed officer. Admiral Souvaroff was so 
angry that he nearly blew up. The one thing 
missing in the human machine is a safety- 
valve. To some men it would be worth a 

The Grand Duke was a big, lumbering 
giant, who showed all his teeth when he 
talked. He had a clean-shaven chin, a dark 
moustache, and very bushy side-whiskers. 
Left by the Admiral in the hotel garden,, he 
sat down with his equerry at one of the 
tables on the lawn. 

" Gimme a bott tchampagne," he growled. 
This was at half-past eleven. 

" Gimme a bott tchampagne," he repeated* 
This at ten minutes to twelve. 

" Gimme a bott tchampagne," he snarled. 
This at ten past the hour. 

" He vould make a good clock," said 
Monsieur Bibi. " He doesn't know much 
English, but vot he knows is useful." Then 
he said to the head waiter : " Take six cases 
of champagne to de second -floor service. 
And hereafter don't close de cellar at night 
till de ship goes avay." 

Wanda had disappeared for the second 
time. Not a trace of her destination could 
be found. It was learned that she had gone 
out by the side door, and had walked alone 
to the railway station, carrying only a small 
dressing-bag. She took a single ticket for 
Dover. Everybody was aghast. 

Her father was unapproachable in his 
rage. The Grand Duke drank ducally. At 
intervals he would go upstairs and kick the 
spy. Most frantic of all was Ladislas. 
Wanda had left him no message. The sight 
of the Grand Duke made him furious, and 
he took sundry draughts of brandy, which 
made him more so. Finally, about four 
in the afternoon, he went out on the lawn 
and took a seat at the table next to the 
Grand Duke's. Every table was occupied 
by Russian officers. The champagne corks 
popped like volunteer shooting in a sham 
battle. All the officers pricked up their ears 
awaiting the scene. Monsieur Bibi knew 
that the* sparks would fly, and they did. The 
two men glared at each other. 

"Gimme a bott tchampagne, 1 ' snapped 
the Grand Duke. 

"Gimme a bott tchampagne," said Ladis- 
las, undaunted. The Grand Duke poured 
out a full glass and rose to throw it in the 
face of his .rival i He stumbled, however, 




and spilt it on the equerry. He began to 
pour out another. 

" Do you dare ? " cried Ladislas. 

" Fool," said the Grand Duke, contemptu- 
ously. This is translating very freely. They 
spoke Russian. 

" You are my superior officer." 

" I waive that." 

" You are a Prince of the Blood Royal." 

"I waive that" 

"Then we fight," hissed I^idislas, hotly. 

" At five to-morrow morning. Gimme a 
bott tchampagne." 

Ladislas went to his room, and locked the 
door. He walked to and fro in misery, 
thinking of Wanda, trying. to imagine where 
she was, and vainly hoping for a message. 
There came a knock at the door. 

" Who is it?" 

" Bibi." 

I^adislas opened. 

"Dere is a telegram coming for you, but 
you must not get it. You must go away." 

" I cannot ; I have to fight a duel." 

" Fight all de duels you please, but don't 
get dat telegram." 

" I will not go." 

" Not for the Princess ? " 

" What ? You know where she is ? " 

Monsieur Bibi winked his left pug-dog 
eye. It was convincing. I^adislas went. 

The Admiral and the Ambassador had 
put their heads together and hit upon the 
right thing to do. They telegraphed the 
Minister of War at St. Petersburg to stop 
Ladislas's leave and order his immediate 
return. He must obey instantly or be court- 
martialed for desertion. At six o'clock that 
evening the answering telegram arrived. It 
was sent to his room. He had gone out. 
Where was he? He could not be found. 
The telegram was laid on the porter's desk 
in the hall. The Admiral and the 
Ambassador posted themselves in the 
smoking-room. Every few moments one of 
them would steal out and peer over the 
banisters at the telegram lying on the 
centre of the desk. They were to be the 
proof of its receipt in person. Then the 
watcher would steal back to his companion 
and say, " Not yet,"- and they would each 
drink a liqueur glass of vodka. They stole 
out several times. It was always still there. 
So was the fresh glass of vodka on the return 
to the room. 

" If dey wait till he gets dat telegram," 
said Monsieur Bibi, "dcyvill be under my 
smoking-room sofa." Bibi had seen the 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

direction of their telegram : " To the Minister 
of War." He said to the waiter : " Dat is 
very special vodka, made by Mister Vodka 
himself, vit his own fair hands. Charge 
half a crown a glass." 

Ladislas did not fail to keep his appoint- 
ment next morning. 

The duel was fought at five, in a secluded 
field, filled with young wheat and red pop- 
pies, about ten minutes' walk from the hotel. 
Ladislas was pale and resolute. The Grand 
Duke was imperially drunk. He could not 
have hit a tram-car, sitting, at five paces. 
Monsieur Bibi had marshalled the corre- 
spondents in a column of fours. He was 
immaculately dressed in black, with black tie. 
He had once been cook to a duellist. The 
men were placed at thirty-one yards rise. This 
was the suggestion of the Daily Telegraph, 
who gravely said that was the rule in England ! 
The seconds were the equerry and a Russian 
officer. The wavering and eccentric motion 
of the Grand Duke's arm after he got his 
pistol cocked was calculated to make on- 
lookers nervous. Monsieur Bibi wished he 
had a tree. He had never cared for trees, 
but he had a fancy just then for a large, thick 
oak. He took a strategic position behind 
the correspondents, who were cool. The 
Morning Post said it was like Atbara. 

The equerry gave the word. "One— two 
three — fire ! " Ladislas could not shoot at a 
Prince of the Blood Royal. He raised his 
right arm to its full length, and fired in the 

The Grand Duke started at the noise, and 
pulled himself together. He looked curiously 
up in the air. 

" Vat you shooting at ? " 

Ladislas had confused him. He thought 
for the moment that it was a shooting party. 

" I cannot shoot at you." 

" But I can shoot at you." 

" That is your right." 

" Say you vill not marry Wanda." 

" I will not." 

" Oh ! You vill not marry Wanda ? Den 
I don't shoot." 

" I will marry Wanda." 

" Vot you mean ? You vill and you vill 
not. Foolishness." 

" You don't understand. You said to me : 
' Say you will not marry Wanda.' I said, ' I 
will not.' That is to say, I said I will not 
say so. Then you thought I meant yes, con- 
senting to your desire. On the contrary, 
however, whether I live or die " 

He stopped. The Grand Duke, lulled by 
the sequence- of sibilant verbs, was falling 




sound asleep and swaying to and fro- His 
pistol was still cocked, and -pointed directly 
at the right toe of a Prince of the Blood 
Royal. Clearly this could not go on. 
"Time/* said the Morning Post, 
The equerry went to His Highness, and 

of this cottage were brilliantly lighted, so 
brilliantly that they caught the unaided eye* 
" A penny each," cried the man. 
The Grand Duke, the Ambassador, and 
the Admiral, excited and eager, bumped their 
heads in trying to get three eyes behind one 


took away the pistol. u Gimme a bott 
(champagne," murmured His Highness, 
feebly, and then, leaning on the equerry, fell 
sound asleep. 

The party separated. 

The Grand Duke slept all day. He dined 
with the Admiral and the Ambassador. It 
was nine o'clock in the evening. 

The spy came tearing down the road from 
the pier at full speed. " Come ! Quick I I 
have found them/' 

They rose, and followed him rapidly. The 
Grand Duke and the spy took long, rapid 
strides, the Ambassador trotted, and the 
Admiral, whose legs were shortest, had to 
canter. The spy led them for a short dis- 
tance out upon the pier, "See," he said, 
and pointed to a large brass .telescope, 
mounted on a tripod, which was used by the 
public for observing the heavens at a penny 
per observation, The spy seized the instru- 
ment, turned it downward from the sky and 
along the cliffs. In a moment it pointed at 
a cottage, boldly facing the sea, about half 
a mile away. The ground-floor windows 

eye-piece. This was impossible. Precedence 

"Who? Vich? Vere?" snapped the 
Grand Duke, impatiently. He was sweeping 
the whole coast with the glass, and finally 
located a gas-lamp about ten feet distant. 
" Ah," said he ; then he swore* The spy 
again pointed the glass at the cottage, and 
the three looked by turns through the long 
half-mile of calm, still darkness. 

The glowing lights were in the drawing- 
room, which throughout nearly its whole 
extent was commanded by the glass. It 
was a strange sensation to the observers. 
Through the powerful telescope they were 
brought SO near to the mute and moving 
personages that it seemed they could almost 
touch them. They seemed to be present, 
to hear the words that were being said, 
though half a mile of night lay between. 
And the picture was a beautiful one. 

The influence of Wanda, Ladislas, and his 
family had sufficed in St. Petersburg to 
soften the heart of the Church, The Greek 
Church a9thjj^^^-|^ Qndon had come to 




the rescue. The drawing-room of Wanda's 
hiding-place had been transformed into a 
temporary chapel A large table had been 
dressed as an improvised altar. Many 
candles lighted the room with a golden glow, 
in which the figure of the Christ upon the 
cross stood out solemnly. There was a 
Greek priest and an assistant priest 
in full canonicals. The priest stood 

The Admiral turned away* his back to his 
friends, and looked out on the sea. 

Rage, pride, a father's love, and the power- 
ful influence of religion upon a superstitious 
Russian mind struggled in conflict within 
him. " Ouf ! " he said, with the angry, con- 
vulsive movement of a proud man who has 


in front of the altar, and before him knelt, 
with bowed heads, the handsome lover and 
his beautiful love. The assistant priest 
stood on the left. Monsieur 1'ihi, in im- 
maculate evening dress, stood on the right. 
The priest's hands were raised. The 
Admiral was looking through the glass. 

" For ever and ever, world without end 
M said the priest in the room. 

" A penny each,' 1 said the man on the pier. 

ROOM, 1 ' 

been beaten and in whom the better 
feelings are striving for the mastery. 
He turned again to the glass. 

"A penny each," said the man, 

" In the name of the Father, and of the 
Son " said the priest. 

The Admiral gave a deep sigh, sub- 
mitted to the inevitable, and turned to his 

" Amen," said he, removing his hat. 

The Grand Duke and the Ambassador 
bowed gravely 3 with uncovered heads. 

by Google 

Original from 

Football Dogs. 

By Albert H. Broadwkll. 

Phafogtaphs by A. /, Johnson. 

N easterly wind was blowing 
hard, when we were requested, 
by special invitation^ to attend a 
certain football match^ which, 
when all has been said and done, 
has proved to be 
the most extra- 
ordinary exhibi- 
tion of " footer " 
that has ever 
been known in 
the history of the 

This most as- 
tonishing game 
of football took 
place not a hun- 
dred miles from 
New Cross, and 
we are indebted 
to the proprietors 
of the New Cross 
Empire, and es- 
pecially to Mr, H. Raymond, their manager, 
for the arrangements which have enabled us 
to secure the remarkable pictures which 
illustrate this article. The football dogs, 
whose spirited play we are 
to chronicle in detail pre- 
sently, are for the most 
part bull - terriers of high 
degree* They belong to the 
brothers Rkcobono, of Man- 
chester, to whose wonderful 
knowledge of animals and 
their training no small amount 
of praise is due, 

The writer is willing to 
challenge any man of 
ordinary or extraordinary 
pluck to stand in any 
place of his own choosing 
with a football in his hand, 
and await the onslaught 
of the footballers shown 
in the illustrations of this 
article. Bull-terriers were 
bull ■ terriers ever, and 
Providence help the man 
who dare stand between 
them and the u leather " 
when once it is